Three Women Walk Into a Bar
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: When Evelyn Trevelyan, Marian Hawke and Elissa Cousland get together for a drink, what else are they going to talk about besides their men? As I suspected, this did not remain dead. Now featuring other characters interactions over alcohol, as I think them up!
1. Three Legends

Night had long fallen over Skyhold, but the bar remained open, as it was always open when the Lady Trevelyan wanted to drink. It turned out that Inquisitors could not only command forces throughout Thedas, but they had a very firm grip on the liquor supply in their immediate vicinity. Tonight they'd broken into the rarest and best the fortress could offer, in honor of their distinguished guests. She shared her small table in the corner with Elissa Cousland and Marian Hawke, and they received a level of care that the Orlesian nobility would have envied fiercely, were they ever allowed to find out about it.

At first the bar had been full of people, drinking and gawking at the three legends as best they could. The whispers around them had burned Evelyn, but the other ladies didn't seem to notice. Perhaps they'd had more time to get used to the stares. One was nobility turned royalty, and the other had been a Viscountess and the most famous apostate in the realm. Evelyn had been a minor noble destined to a life in the Chantry, or possibly a marriage to another minor noble. She was no one of importance and didn't like being the center of whispered attention. At least with these two she was always the least noticed person of the group.

Her friends had helped as well, talking easily with them all, like they were normal, not pivots upon which history turned. Iron Bull had swapped gory battle stories with Elissa that were still making her stomach turn, Sera and Hawke had gotten along like a house on fire, and even Cassandra had deigned to drink a half a glass of ale. Zevran and Dorian had been lost in a quagmire of innuendo from the start, and when they'd left abruptly no one had been surprised. Still, somehow the place had emptied, everyone drifting away piece by piece, until it was just the three of them sharing the table. Well, the four of them, until Hawke's pointed look had finally sent Varric out, grumbling about the lost story opportunity. After that the conversation became softer and wilder in turns, greased by a liberal quantity of brandy.

Evelyn peered over her glass at the two women as she took a small sip. The bartender had given up on them an hour back, but he'd left enough bottles at the table to see them through the night. At first she'd protested at the volume, thinking they were more likely to die of alcohol poisoning than anything else, but watching Elissa and Hawke go at it, she was glad he hadn't listened. She had to ask. "How are the two of you still alive? You're putting this stuff away like it's water."

Elissa smiled slightly. "It's a Grey Warden thing. We just burn it off."

"That can't be it. The King can't hold his liquor at all. Leliana told me about the time he had three glasses of Antivan wine and gave a rousing speech to the kitchen staff about the battle they would soon face for control of the dessert table. If I remember her correctly, he followed it by falling asleep on a bag of flour, then woke up with a cat having kittens next to him. He had such a bad headache that he couldn't move and had to live through the entire birthing process at very close quarters."

Hawke laughed, loudly enough that the three heads across the room snapped over to them. They were the only other ones left in the room, and their faces spoke volumes. Alistair looked nervous, Cullen resigned, and Fenris stony. The mage gave them a small wave and a grin, and they snapped back just as quickly. "They think we're talking about them. Adorable."

"Well, we are, aren't we?" asked Evelyn.

"That doesn't mean they should be so suspicious of us!"

Evelyn privately thought they were all lucky their men had only made it to suspicious, but kept it to herself. Elissa took them back to their original topic. "Alistair's a Chantry boy. He thinks he should get drunk, so he gets drunk. I've tried to talk him out of it, but he's stubborn." Her voice was irritated, but her eyes held a soft light that was rarely present. The Queen of Ferelden wasn't known for her easy temper. She took another long pull, then refilled her mug. "Really, though, the power we accept makes it hard to get truly drunk. Another sacrifice of the Wardens that they don't exactly advertise."

"And I just have a lot of practice," said Hawke. Her eyes were full of mischief, as always. Varric, correctly, said the sun would fall into the sea before Hawke ever took anything seriously. "You travel through Tevinter's taverns getting intel long enough, you learn to drink with the best. Just don't ask me to play Wicked Grace. I always cheat more when I'm drinking."

"You'll get no argument from me. I doubt we could talk Cullen into it anyway. Last time we held a game he lost a lot more than his shirt to Josephine."

Hawke grinned. "That's what he gets for trying to outfox an Antivan. They have no scruples." She eyed the Commander speculatively. "Can't say I'm not sorry I missed it though. Now that he's relaxed a little, not so likely to yell blood mage at the drop of a hat, he's definitely more alluring."

Evelyn gaped, too shocked to try to be possessive. "You think he's relaxed?"

"Oh Maker, yes. You should have known him when he was a Templar. Wound tighter than an Arishok with a crooked horn," said Hawke. "I mean, I know he went through a lot, but I got the sense he hadn't exactly been working off a spontaneous personality even before then."

The Queen nodded her agreement. "We met under difficult circumstances, of course, but he was painfully formal even in anger. He'll never give Zevran or your Dorian any challenge for easy charm, but he laughs now at least." She tipped her cup to Evelyn. "Your influence, I imagine."

"I haven't done much," she muttered, blushing. They were still fruitlessly trying to keep their romance under wraps, and in truth it hadn't proceeded much beyond casual. She would never admit to these powerful, knowing women that they'd done little more than kiss on the battlements and share a few looks over the War Table.

"The man is utterly smitten with you, Inquisitor. My advice? Don't waste his loosened tongue tonight," said Hawke. Her eyes sparkled. "Take it from me, the outwardly chaste ones are the most inventive lovers. Don't you agree, Your Highness?"

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Really, Hawke, the poor girl doesn't need to hear your lengthy stories of sexual conquest. She'll never set foot in a bedroom again. Besides, Fenris will know what you're talking about. He always does. And then he'll roar over here, and you'll both be embarrassing again. Just like you were at that Arlessa's combat tournament when you ran Kirkwall."

"We didn't do anything improper!"

"No, you didn't do anything indecent. Impropriety abounded. Thank the Maker Fenris had enough sense to take you inside the house before you got his clothes off."

Hawke grinned. "What can I say? He brings out the worst in me. He's just such a stimulating fighter." She drank deeply and waggled her eyebrows. "And he doesn't need any Templar training to control my magic."

Evelyn wouldn't ask. She cast about for another topic. "So does sex actually make him smile, ever, or does he have a permanent frown etched onto him along with the lyrium?" She clapped her hands over her mouth and stared into her glass in horror.

"Ha! I knew we'd crack that prissy outer shell eventually. And the answer is, yes and no. He doesn't have to smile to let me know that he's pleased. In fact, it's sometimes better if he doesn't." Hawke turned to Elissa. "How about Alistair? You ever get him to be serious or is it a comedy routine throughout?"

"I might as well ask the same about you."

"Pffft. You're no fun. You've got kids, and we've shared a few campsites, so I know that you don't have a sexless marriage. How are we going to accurately roleplay Ferelden royalty without any inside information?" Hawke drained her glass again and poured another, slightly wobbly mugful. "It's funny. You and I got the wrong men, didn't we? You and Fenris are so alike, angry and secretive, while Alistair and I are the jokesters. Maybe I should start copying your style. It might make him happier."

Her voice dipped in a way that had both Evelyn and Elissa leaning forward. "Is that what this is about?" asked the Queen. "I wondered. Despite what you said, you never used to drink this much."

The mage's voice lowered as she nodded wearily. "I'm losing him, and I don't know why, and I can't fix it. Serves me right, I guess, after trying to run so many of my friends' love lives for them. I'm no matchmaker. Isabella has yet to forgive me for trying to make her and Sebastian into a happy ending."

"Have you asked him about it?" asked Evelyn.

"Not a chance. Every time I've even started to try, we just end up in bed. And it's good. It always is. But more and more it's all there is." She sighed. "We haven't had a very traditional romance, from what I hear. I wouldn't know. I've never had one before. We got together because he hated me and my magic so much that he couldn't resist having me. We stay together because neither of us can give up having the other. Maybe something like that always burns out in the end."

"Maker give me strength," said Elissa flatly, "for I sit in the presence of the dumbest woman in Thedas. If this were just sex, you'd both have moved on long ago. You're no stranger to casual flirtations, and from what little he's shared about his life in Tevinter, sex as a concept holds about as much appeal to him as diplomatic flatteries do to me. I know something about love. Trust me, there's more there."

Hawke laid her head on the table. "You and Alistair are so perfect. It's an absolutely unfair example to set for the rest of us. Royals are supposed to be stuffy and polite to each other, not fairy tales."

"It's no fairy tale, Champion. It's work, and a lot of it. The fact that you're willing to do the work when you have to is what makes the times when you don't so good." Elissa gestured to Evelyn, clearly looking for support. She stared back blankly, and the Queen narrowed her eyes. Evelyn remembered that she was still wearing her sword.

She cleared her throat. "Um, I know almost nothing about love. But I'm good at body language. When you fight from the shadows, you get really quick at reading what people's bodies are telling you. And Fenris is more aware of you as a person than anyone I've ever seen. If you walk into a room where he's sitting, his entire demeanor changes. It's like watching a hound scent a target. He turns towards you, inside, even when you never get close enough to touch him. Even when you never even look at each other." She smiled. "He's doing it now. He's thinking about getting up to come over here because you're slumped over. He's not even facing this way, but he still knows."

The mage straightened quickly. "He probably thinks I'm sick." She raised her glass off the table again to drink, then threw it in the air as a figure appeared next to her. "Andraste's ass!"

Cole never moved, but Elissa pushed away from the table ready to fight. Evelyn saw Alistair rise from his seat while Fenris glowed blue, already on edge. Cullen held them both by an arm, talking to them in low and urgent tones, and she hoped he could calm them down. For herself, she looked at Cole calmly. "We talked about not doing that."

"I know, but it's so loud in here. I couldn't think," said Cole. He focused on Hawke. "When you're gone he tries to picture you, but he only sees your back. Your face is hazy, always turned away, and he worries there will be a time when he won't remember how your mouth moves when you smile or how your eyes can hold his from across the room. His body remembers the hellos, but his mind can only see the goodbyes. You scare him. He doesn't want to be a slave."

Brandy dripped from Hawke's black hair as she breathed heavily. Evelyn was glad she'd resisted making fire, or they'd be dealing with a charred mage instead of just a wet one. "He's not a slave," she whispered. She darted her eyes at the elf nervously. "I would never make him stay with me."

"Yes, you never would. But what about what he makes himself? He doesn't know what else to be. Only you can show him he doesn't wear chains," said Cole. Hawke nodded, and he relaxed and turned back to Evelyn. "I'm sorry for the scare and for the brandy that's on the floor instead of in a cup. I will try not to do that again. I just wanted it to be quiet." He vanished.

The two guests sat again, gingerly. Hawke reclaimed her mug from the floor as the men across the room did the same, much more slowly. Evelyn gave them a weak smile that she knew convinced them not a wit. Elissa huffed a breath. "Well, I don't pretend to understand ghosts, but it seems like a solid lead to me. You'd scare me if I were your lover. You aren't at all careful, Hawke. And the two of you spend a lot of time apart."

"He's always the one freeing slaves in Tevinter without me," she protested, but there was no energy behind it.

"And you're the one who went into the Fade and could have easily died without so much as a word to him. I did my share of that, once. It doesn't help a man feel secure in your affection. I'm leaving in a week, and Alistair is going to Denerim without me. You know why we seem so perfect? Because I'll tell him a thousand times before I go that I love him. Even when I'm frustrated or tired. Especially then." Elissa's eyes were cold now, battle-ready. "Have you told Fenris that even once?"

"Of course! Not those exact words, but he knows." Hawke grinned a little, back to her old playfulness. "It would be hard for him not to by now."

Evelyn cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Pardon my innocence, but would this communication be entirely nonverbal, sex communication?" Hawke nodded slightly. "I'm not sure that really counts."

"I agree," said Elissa. "Words speak louder than actions in this case. Tell him. Now. Best do it here so you don't cheat it into another round in bed."

"Here?" Hawke paled. "In front of the Maker and everyone?"

"Everyone being four other people in an otherwise empty bar?" Evelyn couldn't stop a smile. "I think you'll survive. I heard you killed an Arishok once. I'll call him over, if you'd like." She motioned to Cullen, and he rose instantly. The men picked up their mugs and walked across the room towards them.

"The Arishok was a pushover," muttered Hawke, smoothing her hands over her robe.

"You needed something?" asked Cullen. His cheeks were flushed slightly from alcohol, but his voice was the same smooth baritone it always was. She felt herself reddening as well under his gaze, and she cursed Hawke for putting ideas in her head. Alistair sat on the bench next to his wife, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek that made her smile. Fenris took the spot next to Hawke, which left Cullen no choice but to sit next to her. As the two public couples leaned into each other, she fidgeted uncomfortably. She drank again, and the room tilted around her. The bench wasn't that big, and his leg pressed against hers no matter how much she shifted.

Alistair interrupted her agony. "Is this something to do with the whatever it was that popped in here? Since my adorable wife of impeccable judgment didn't run it through with her sword, I'm content to let it live as well, but I certainly would like to know more about it. Cullen said it was some kind of living spirit?"

She nodded and immediately regretted it. "Cole is a spirit of compassion who came through the Fade as himself and took a living form. I'm assured he's unique, and he's been very helpful to us. Very loyal. I trust him with my life. But he can be a little alarming."

Fenris growled. "Alarming isn't the half of it. You realize he could turn into a demon at any point?"

"That's not true," she said, bristling. She stopped short when Cullen put his on her knee under the table, not only because of the silent command for quiet. She focused on breathing.

"We've taken steps, at his request, to keep that from happening. He's asked us to kill him several times if he changes. Cole knows the dangers better than anyone, and he's accepted the consequences of failure. That's worthy of our respect."

"I suppose. If you need any volunteers to swing the blade, I'm available," said Fenris, but he relaxed a little. Evelyn realized that was his version of a joke and started to think maybe Hawke had a point about their personalities.

As soon as she thought it, Elissa leaned forward. "No, it wasn't about that. Hawke has something to say." Her voice was light but the set of her jaw was definitely hard. Alistair's face went from smiling to terrified as he looked between the two women.

"My dear, you haven't been ordering people around again, have you? We came here to show support for the Inquisition, not take it over." Elissa slashed a look at him, and he quickly added, "Not that you wouldn't look breathtaking in their formal attire, of course. Bright red with buttons all over is what I've always pictured you in."

"I don't give orders. I make suggestions." Cullen couldn't contain a snort, and Evelyn giggled lightly. Alistair kicked them both under the table. The Queen's face didn't change. "My suggestions only sound like orders to people who are too foolish to think of them themselves."

"Yes, I can see the complete lack of command in that sentiment. Well, let's hear it then," he said.

They all turned to Hawke, who squirmed like she was trying to work her way through the bench below her and escape through the floor. It was so very like how her young cousins looked when they'd been caught stealing food that Evelyn couldn't help but laugh again. Fenris growled at her unexpectedly, and Cullen tensed. His hand was still on her leg, and she felt a tug in her lower belly when he clenched it around her. She bit her lip and put her hand over his. He glanced over at her and relaxed, lacing their fingers together.

Fenris hadn't looked away from Hawke even for his reprimand. The mage drank again, deeply, before speaking. "It's been pointed out to me that I haven't always been the best at communicating. Especially about feelings. Yes. There are some who might say that."

"Half of Kirkwall would say it. The other half already has," whispered a voice behind her, and she knew it was Varric. No one else seemed to hear, and she struggled to keep her face straight. She took another drink to cover the smile.

Hawke went on without pausing. "And I, well that is others, thought it was time that I overcame my maidenly shyness and brought my insides to the outside. Not my actual insides, then we would need a healer, but the insides that have the feelings in them. Right. So that's what I'm trying to do. Now. Does that make sense?" The Queen put a hand to her forehead and sighed. The rest of the table stared intensely at their glasses and fought off laughter.

"I assume this is about me. So are you breaking off our relationship or proposing marriage?" asked Fenris. "Right now, it could go either way."

"Neither! Maker's breath." Her voice held a note of terror before she rushed back into speech. "Unless you want to get married? I didn't think that you were a person who uh, wanted that. Sort of thing. Do you?"

"If I did want it, would you do it?" Evelyn glanced up sharply and saw a smile ghost across the elf's lips. Hawke was looking at the floor and didn't notice. She wriggled even more uncomfortably, squeaking and stammering about how she'd never really considered it. The mumbled explanations went on for several minutes and grew more incoherent as the time passed. Her face was redder than the dreaded formal uniforms, dismay clear and bright on it.

Cullen broke his silence. "By the Maker, stop torturing the poor woman. Mages have rights in the walls of Skyhold, you know. No excessive punishment."

Hawke's head snapped up, and she glared. Fenris smiled then, a real smile. "If you could have seen your face." The mage punched him in the arm, and he smiled even more broadly. He took her face in his hands and kissed her with a heat that made Evelyn shift in her seat. Cullen coughed next to her, but his thumb rubbed slow circles over her palm. She held back a longing sigh.

Fenris pulled back, serious. "I don't want to marry you, Hawke. That would make us both miserable. And I'm not with you for romantic speeches. Don't worry about it." He dropped his hands.

The Champion's eyes grew mutinous, and she crossed her arms. "I'll worry about whatever I want, elf. Don't tell me what to do. And right now I'm going to worry about this. I love you. Okay?"

Alistair muttered into his glass, "Definitely not a romantic speech."

"I'm sure Varric will clean it up," she whispered back.

The King winked at her. "I hope so. I've been looking for a new book to read. It's hard to while away the long nights when my Hero abandons me."

"Be quiet, or you'll know from abandonment," said Elissa absently. Alistair schooled his face into an unconvincing display of seriousness. Fenris and Hawke acknowledged none of it, only stared at each other. Evelyn watched, fascinated, waiting to see who would win their silent war of dominance.

Eventually Hawke stood with a sigh. "Come on. You win." Her voice was resigned, but her eyes sparkled with her usual mischief.

"An inevitable outcome." He took her outstretched hand and swung himself up beside her. His hand found her waist, and he made no attempt to lower his voice. "Especially tonight. Or did you think I'd miss the chance to make you say it as often as I want? You know I can."

"We'll see."

"We certainly will." He spoke to the table without looking. "Thanks for the drinks." They left with more speed than was necessary, and Evelyn saw a short shadow follow them. She hoped Varric didn't get his head twisted around the wrong way, but she had to admit she couldn't wait to read about what happened. A long distance away from the glowing elf.

"Better her than me," she said. Cullen released her hand, and she winced. Her mouth was certainly on fire tonight. Elissa looked at them sympathetically and said nothing. They all finished their drinks in silence.

Just as she was about to head to her chambers herself, Alistair spoke. "So what's it like, Inquisitor?" He tipped his head at the hand around her glass. "It must be hard to carry so much."

She shrugged. "You get used to it, I guess. Besides, it's not like I'm the only one here carrying something that makes life harder."

"My crown comes off my head, though. I can leave whenever I want." Elissa snarled softly. "I wouldn't, of course, but I could. I'm told you're not in the same position."

"I didn't mean your crowns, though I'm sure ruling a country is no small task. But how easily can you walk away from being a Grey Warden? Or a Templar?" She looked at them all. "We all have parts of ourselves that we weren't born with. Ones that we can't erase."

Still he pressed. "True enough. But we chose these lives. You didn't."

She shook her head. "Make no mistake, Your Majesty. I did choose this. I reached down to stop something dangerous that came towards me, and I picked it up. It's what life is. If I didn't know the risks of what I was doing, well, how much did you know before you joined the Order? Cullen certainly didn't understand what being a Templar really meant until it was too late to do anything about it." Cullen's gaze was hot on her face, but she didn't turn away from the King. She needed him to understand, even if she didn't know why. She waved her hands to encompass the bar around them. "And as for this, I choose it every day. I may have to bear the anchor, but I don't have to be the Inquisitor. Corypheus or no, Breach or no, they ask and I answer. Every day. It's that simple."

"There's nothing simple about service to so many," said Elissa. "Choices aren't always easy."

"How to serve isn't simple. But deciding to move forward instead of sit and sulk? That's the easiest thing in the world." Evelyn drummed her fingers on the table. "Why are you so curious, anyway? I'd think you'd understand this already."

Alistair cleared his throat. "Ferelden supports the Inquisition, if only because Leliana would break my arm if we didn't, but you're a hard woman to get a sense of. Your insides stay on your insides, as Hawke would say. You've done a lot of good. You've made mistakes. I expect that will continue. I wanted to know how much I could trust you." He grinned. "You're too powerful not to interrogate a little when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," she said. She tried to stand and swayed a little. Cullen stood and steadied her. She leaned on him and frowned. "I'm just tired."

Elissa looked out the window. "As well you should be. Not far off dawn now, I think." She stood herself, perfectly steady, and Evelyn envied her. She pulled at her husband's arm. "Come on. It's time for bed."

"As my Queen commands," he said, jumping up into a perfect escort position. They walked away as gracefully as if they were in their own court, a sight ruined only by the broad smile on the King's face.

She turned as they got to the door. "Inquisitor," she said formally. "If you would allow, I'd like to speak to you more about my mission before I leave. I think it would be useful for you to know where I'm going. You may have insight. Support."

"Of course, Your Majesty. You have only to ask. What's the nature of your trip?"

Fire rose to her eyes, and even Alistair's face lost its smile. "I'm going to cure the disease we call being a Grey Warden." They left without another word, and Evelyn stared after them.

Cullen shook his head. "She always did like an exit line. Even at the Circle she couldn't resist a little drama. Let's go, Inquisitor. I'll get you back to your quarters in one piece."

The cold air woke her up a little, and she wasn't listing quite so badly once they made it to the Hall. She kept leaning on Cullen anyway, enjoying his nearness. Hawke's advice ran through her mind as they walked across the stone floor, and again as they reached her door, and again as they climbed the steps to her quarters. He stopped on the landing outside and gave her a curious look. She pulled him to her and kissed him thoroughly. He didn't protest, and she took that as permission to push harder. He responded with equal heat, and they spent several minutes pressed against the wall in delicious closeness. He tasted like brandy and felt like granite underneath her wandering hands.

When they broke for air, she smiled. "That was nice."

He released a slow breath over her. "That's one word for it, yes." He pushed away with a sigh. "Good night, Lady."

She couldn't resist calling after him when he reached the stairs. "Do you want to come in?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, turning back with narrowed eyes. "It's late and you're tipsy and you need sleep more than even I do. This isn't a good night for anything… delicate."

"I agree," she said. She grinned in her most Hawke-like way and emphasized her words carefully. "But do you want to?"

He smiled then. "More than I would ever admit to anyone but you." He turned away and walked down the stairs. "Go to bed!"

Evelyn laughed as she hiked up the final flight of stairs, feeling lighter than she had in days. She fell into bed fully clothed and drifted away. Before the Fade claimed her, she thought drowsily, _Elissa and Alistair may be perfect love, and Hawke and Fenris may be perfect sex, but Cullen is the perfect gentleman._ She made a note to tell him that, one day, and she fell asleep smiling.


	2. Dorian

Dorian sighed as he walked into the tavern, his usual sanguinity deserting him. He'd promised Evelyn he'd put in an appearance and entertain her distinguished guests, but he wished he'd asked who the guests were beforehand. Hawke was a lovely woman, with a talent for wordplay that warmed his heart, but her lover was more likely to rip his heart out than warm it. It wasn't as though Fenris didn't have his reasons, given his abominable treatment at the hands of one of the Arcanum's finest, but it didn't make him an entertaining fellow. Except in Antiva. Murder was always entertainment in Antiva.

He paused at the door. The crush of people inside made stopping inevitable, and he wondered hopefully if he could get away with leaving but pretending he'd been there all along. Unfortunately Iron Bull's height gave him away. The quanari called out, "There's the Vint!" loudly enough to shake the entire Frostbacks, and he knew he was stuck. Evelyn whirled around with a huge grin, and Dorian sighed again before plastering a smile on his face. Friendship was a lot more sacrificial than he'd realized.

His smile became more genuine after he wound his way through the chattering crowd. Bull had a drink waiting for him, the good Tevinter stuff, and he drank from it quickly. "Such a warm welcome, thank you. But you'll spoil me with all of this kindness and consideration."

"Hey, it was her idea." Bull jerked his head at Evelyn. "She thought you might need a little lubrication. I just volunteered to keep watch. Besides, I figure tolerable Vints are rare enough that the ones you find should be cultivated."

Krem spoke up from a nearby table. "Cultivated? Is that what you're doing with me, Bull? I'm no gardener, but being hit with a shield over and over again doesn't feel much like cultivation. Feels more like what you would do to a nasty weed."

"No, with you I'm trying to teach you a damn lesson about how not to get your sorry ass killed. Being tolerable is somewhere past that point. We'll see if you find it." The second-in-command saluted with an obscene gesture and turned back to Scout Harding. Bull clapped Dorian on the back. "So, you here to entertain the fine people?"

He grimaced. "For what I'm worth. I'm not feeling very suave this evening."

"I've no doubt you'll rise to the occasion. You usually do when I'm around," said Bull. Dorian rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a smile. "Not tonight, though. There's a new girl working the kitchens. Redhead. You know."

"Yes, yes, no need to wax poetic. I'll somehow survive without you." Dorian eyed the cluster of people in front of him. "Any tips on how I should fulfill my duties?"

Bull ticked them off on his fingers. "Hawke already loves you. Steer clear of the glowy elf. Alistair's nice but easily shocked, so go easy on the innuendo. They've got an elf with them, too, haven't seen him yet. And the other woman, don't worry about it. I've got her covered." He grinned. "She's got red hair, too."

Dorian choked on his drink. "Alistair. As in King Alistair? And the other woman being the Hero?" He glared at Bull balefully. "How did I not know about this? I would have worn something with a little more flair."

"It was a surprise visit, I guess."

"Nothing is a surprise in Skyhold."

"Well yeah, not to the Nightingale. But to everyone else," said Bull. "Why does it matter? You've met royalty before."

"At an elaborate ball during which I looked, if I say so myself, impeccable. Not in a dingy tavern in whatever I threw on."

Bull laughed. "You can take the mage out of the Imperium, but you can't beat the snob out of him with a big stick. I wouldn't worry about it too much. They don't seem to stand on ceremony. And the Ben-Hassrath have a file on the Queen. It mostly lists the ways you shouldn't mess with her. There are a lot of ways."

Dorian peered through the crowd curiously. "Someone the mighty Qunari are afraid of? Now I am intrigued."

"Not afraid. But you don't have to be afraid of a dragon to know that you don't want to poke it unless you're ready to kill it. She traveled with one of ours in the Blight. Kind of a weird guy, but respected. He had a lot of dark stories about her. She's killed all kinds of people in very nasty, very thorough ways. And he didn't even include the part where she killed an arch-demon, lived, then settled a bastard and herself on the throne of an entire country. She doesn't mess around."

A man's voice rose up beside them. "She also eats one dragon's heart a month, just to keep her hand in. Fresh-killed, of course. A stale dragon heart is even worse than Orleisan food." Dorian started and turned to look at the newcomer. A pleasant, handsome face smiled at them both, and he felt his heart sinking. "Alistair, bastard king of Ferelden, Grey Warden, and husband to a terrifying wife. Titles not listed in order of importance. Nice to meet you."

Nothing to do but ride the wave. "Dorian Pavus. I think I've seen you on a coin."

"I wasn't aware that Ferelden currency was allowed in the Imperium. I always get the impression from their envoys that the stuff bursts into flame as soon as it crosses the border. They certainly don't like to handle it without gloves."

"I'm fortunate enough to be a little more cosmopolitan in my views. Though the Magisters would likely say I'm less cosmopolitan." He shrugged. "Just don't ask me my opinions on Ferelden hygiene, and we'll get along fine."

Iron Bull broke in. "Definitely don't ask him about it. Unless I'm out of earshot. I've heard the speech way too many times."

"Warning received. I promise not to bring it up if you promise not to tell your spymaster about the crack I made about Orlesian food," said Alistair. He sobered. "The Inquisitor told me you had a friend who died from the Blight. I'm sorry to hear that. I wish we could have stopped it."

Felix. Dorian's heart tightened, but he responded lightly. "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate the sentiment, but it wasn't your fault."

"Alistair, please. I like to forget who I am every once in a while. And as a Grey Warden, all the deaths are my fault. In one way or another. Anyway, I wanted to say it."

Hawke sidled up to them and put on an exaggerated frown. Sera rose like an evil sunrise behind her. "So many serious faces over here. Unacceptable!" said the mage. She stood on her toes to kiss Dorian's cheek, and he looked around reflexively for Fenris. "Relax, he's off annoying Varric. Or maybe the other way around. In any case, I can't let you flirt with royalty in such a gloomy fashion. As your friend, I forbid it."

He leveled a glare at her while Alistair colored. "Believe me, Hawke, when I flirt with someone you'll all know it. And everyone involved will be smiling."

Bull pushed away from the wall. "They really, really will. Now, I'm off to tell a certain redhead a good story." He walked away without effort. Everyone got out of the way of a giant man with horns.

"Make it a bloody one, she'll love it!" Alistair called after him.

"No kidding, yeah? Never seen a noble who'd sooner stamp out her own kind than mine," said Sera. "Catch her letting mad people kill a bunch of servants in her palace for stupid politics. Might have stuck around Denerim if I'd known."

Alistair winced. "Well, another noble family did kill almost everyone at her home in Highever in the early days of the Blight."

"Yeah, she told us. But instead of going out and trying to kill everyone in some other stupid castle to swing back, she found the guy and stabbed him right in the face, didn't she? No games. Doesn't mean it's good, but it's good for a noble. Won't be humbling you anytime soon if you keep her around. Not much anyway."

"Humbling me?" The King looked a little pale.

"Don't worry, nothing too big. But if you find salt in your sugar bowl, just remember the name. Sera." Sera snorted. "We did that to the Inquisitor the other day, before she had her first coffee. Classic!"

Hawke laughed. "Oh I wish I'd seen that. She's so grumpy in the morning already."

"I know, right? She spit it out all over herself right in front of everyone. Had to change, made some fussy dignitary have to wait for her. We got a good laugh out of it."

Alistair murmured, "Dorian, remind me to take my coffee black as long as I'm in Skyhold." Dorian was relieved that the man didn't seem too thrown by the implication of his preferences. Or perhaps it was just royal manners. He opened his mouth to reply when Alistair interrupted him. "Ah, Leliana finally made it. Now it's a party."

Dorian turned towards the door. Of course, Leliana knew the rulers of Ferelden, quite well. He'd known it without really thinking about it. She looked a little less severe than usual, a little younger, and he wondered for the first time what she'd been like all those years ago. It seemed impossible that she'd been anything other than the taciturn spymaster she'd become, and yet she must have been delicately raised to be so well-mannered. A blonde elf stepped in behind her, graceful and attractive, and he moved to a new train of thought. "Who's that with her?"

"Hm? Oh, that's Zevran. Another friend from the bad old days. I say friend, but he definitely tried to kill us a few times. Now he's our bodyguard. Sort of."

He couldn't decide which part of that to unpack, so he sidestepped it. "Please tell me he's not from Tevinter, too."

Hawke chuckled, and Alistair nodded knowingly. "Fenris isn't in your fan club, I take it? Don't worry, Zevran is from Antiva. No reason to hate mages that I'm aware of." He paused. "But he was a Black Crow, so try not to give him a reason to start." Dorian's blood ran cold. The assassin's guild. Not nice people, by all accounts, and very good at killing Magisters whose friends decided they were no longer needed.

"Was?" asked Sera. "What, can you retire from killing people for money?"

"They had some creative differences," said Hawke. "Now the Crows just try to kill him for free."

"Ugh. Politics." Sera looked around nervously as Leliana got closer. "I think I'm going to be somewhere else. I may have on purpose glued her writing materials to her desk earlier today." The elf took off, with Hawke following closely and demanding details.

Leliana threw her arms around Alistair when she got close enough, laughing happily. Dorian laid his hand over his mouth in mock surprise. "My dear, I didn't know you had it in you. Such wanton displays of joy will surely get you tossed out of any reasonable spying circles."

"Oh hush. Old friends are always worth some joy, are they not?" She stepped back and gestured to her companion. "Dorian, Zevran. Zevran, Dorian. Sorry there's no time for more introductions, but I need to ask His Majesty some questions about Ferelden troop support that has still not materialized."

"I think you'll find Elissa is in charge of -" the King began, but stopped at her look. He grinned sheepishly at the other men. "It was worth a try. Lead on, Sister."

After they left, Dorian cast about for something to say. "Murdered anyone interesting lately?" seemed to lack the appropriate diplomacy, and talking about the weather was simply out of the question with someone so outwardly appealing. He stroked a finger along his jaw to stall for time. The elf across from him looked amused. "So, who is it that you think I have killed? I would set your mind at ease, if I can," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You are clearly a wealthy member of the Arcanum. The chances you've known someone who died under assassinating circumstances are quite high. And you wonder if I did it. I cannot say it's not a possibility, but I will comfort you if I am able."

Well, he certainly didn't lack for bluntness. Dorian cleared his throat. He hadn't been this off-balance in years. "I'm not a member of the Arcanum actually. That would be my father."

"Of course, you are much too beautiful to be so boring," said Zevran. "I'm glad to meet you now, before you endured such a depressing fate."

He responded to the flirtatious tone without thinking, smiling his most wicked smile. His eyes ran over the elf's wiry frame, appreciating what all he wasn't wearing. The elven markings on his face gave the man's cheekbones delicious definition, and he wondered what it would be like to run his fingers over them.

He shook his head to clear it. The Antivan was clearly too dangerous to play with. "There was a man who died once. An entire family, really. Friends of my father's. The man wasn't a complete fool, which is of course what made someone want him dead. They were murdered in their beds, down to the youngest child. The Crows are very thorough."

Zevran wrinkled his nose. "An entire family? With young children? Sloppy and unnecessary. I make no claims to an angelic nature, but I would never be so unskilled. Breathe easily."

"But you did work in the Imperium?"

"At times. You are a rich nation with many grudges, and it is very easy there, for an elf. Paint over any facial markings, pretend to be a slave, poof. Invisibility without the potion. The best part is, they don't expect slaves to speak, so accents are of no concern. Well, one of the best parts. Slaves also spend much time in the bed, if they are handsome. And I am very handsome."

"I'm sorry. Your method of assassination was to sleep with someone, then kill them?" He blinked, slightly taken aback.

"No! Blasphemous! My two greatest talents are entirely separate, I assure you. And I utilized only one of them for pay." The elf scanned him leisurely. "It's too bad I was never contracted to kill your father. I would have enjoyed the infiltration, I believe."

To his horror, Dorian felt the faint stirrings of a blush on his cheeks. Talk of violence shouldn't be so enticing. He fought to keep his tones dry. "Yes, it was such a shame having a house without blood spatters on the walls and furnishings. I don't know how I lived it down."

Zevran chuckled politely, but the look in his eyes was anything but. He seemed to be waiting for Dorian to respond to the message in them, but he'd never felt less witty in his life. He was used to backroom rendezvous, hands brushing under the table. Flirting discreetly with anyone who moved was a youthful sport in Tevinter, but a public proposition was unheard of. "So tell me, is this licentiousness something they teach you in assassin school? I've only met one other Antivan to speak to, and she's so innocent that babies envy her."

The Antivan took a small step back and looked at the floor. "Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable. I've been traveling so long that I sometimes forget my manners. I did not have the benefit of the gentle upbringing of your lady ambassador, I'm afraid."

"No, it wasn't that," he said. His mind flashed back to all of the times his own advances had been scorned. Zevran's only crime was the speed at which he'd successfully moved from flirtation to conquest with a stranger. He didn't deserve to feel rejected. He stepped towards the elf and lowered his voice. "Tevinter just approaches these things in a more roundabout fashion, is all. The bluntness takes a bit of getting used to, here in the south."

"Do not trouble yourself to soothe me. Men like myself are no better than dogs in the street. It was shameful behavior, not fit for polite company, and I regret it terribly. In fact, I should be soundly punished for it. I submit myself to whatever you deem necessary."

Dorian had started to protest but broke off as Zevran continued his speech. A smile tugged on the man's lips despite his downcast face, and Dorian realized they were standing even closer than they had been before, close enough to brush hands without effort. He crossed his arms. "Oh, I see. A poor-little-me act. Bait for the unwary."

The smile blossomed in full. "And for the wary, at times. It works to a marvel on the chivalrous sort, such as yourself. Admit it, I am quite a good performer." He leaned forward and murmured so quietly that Dorian had to bend his head to his lips. "Besides, I perform even better for an audience."

He rocked back and looked around sharply at the reminder of how many strangers surrounded them. They had the attention of most of them. Krem and Harding were staring at them with unabashed amusement, a woman he assumed was the Queen was shaking her head and smiling in the corner, and even Evelyn looked delighted. This time he really did flush and would have moved away, maybe even left entirely, had Zevran not put a restraining hand on his arm. He tensed at the touch. "Be easy, Dorian. This is not the Imperium. Nevertheless, I will keep a chaste and pure distance from you, despite the enormous pain it will cause me, if you wish it."

Dorian struggled to get himself under control. Zevran was right. This wasn't the Imperium, and these weren't strangers. They were his friends. Or at least not his enemies. It wasn't as though he and Iron Bull were some great secret. But this was different. Bull was a force of nature behind closed doors, but in public he never pushed and treated everyone outside of his squad with the same mild, vaguely lecherous, interest. The former Crow in front of him was a hunter who saw only one prey, and everyone else knew it. He may as well have stripped Dorian bare in the middle of the room, and he felt very exposed. The trouble was, he was also interested. The strong hand gripping his arm wasn't helping any.

He summoned up what he could of his usual bravado. "Chastity and purity are such wastes in a handsome man. Don't put yourself out on my account." He was rewarded with a spark of heat when Zevran grinned at him. "I realize this may be a silly question, but how did you know I'd even be amenable to you?"

"Zevran always knows. And even if he knows there's no chance, he'll flirt anyway just in case." Hawke materialized again, this time holding three drinks. Dorian grabbed one gratefully and set his empty mug on the nearest table. Zevran took one as well, and Hawke elbowed Dorian in the ribs. "You left him standing here without a drink, you lummox. So much for Imperial manners."

"My company is richer and headier than any spirits could be," he said airily, but he threw an apologetic glance to the other man.

"I agree most fervently. Still, I thank you for the drink anyway." Zevran took a drink, then continued, "She is correct, of course. When you've experienced as much experience as I have, the senses become very finely tuned. For example, I knew immediately when I met this delightful woman that she had eyes for the wrong elf, but I was unable to persuade her to the correct path."

"You're just lucky he didn't dent your head, after he fought so hard to save your life and everything."

"I do not think he was interested in my brand of gratitude for that, Champion, willingly as it would have been bestowed."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Is everything sex with you? I realize this is the darkspawn calling the hurok evil, but don't you get tired of it sometimes?"

"Of the act itself? Never, assuming sufficient rest breaks and hydration. And can I help that I am naturally charming?" The elf's face softened. "But yes, I do have other interests. Cutting down my enemies. Protecting my friends. Seeing Thedas. And occasionally needlepoint. But life is short, as the Crows teach the world. It makes little sense to deny what pleasure it affords. When it presents itself." He looked at Dorian, then, eyes still teasing, but there was something challenging in them as well. He made up his mind. Zevran wanted him. He was attracted to Zevran. What was the point in dancing around the issue over more drinks?

Even as the thought formed, he hesitated. How did one invite a barely acquaintanced elf to one's quarters without baldly stating it to everyone around him? Tevinter had plenty of code words, but he wasn't sure they'd translate.

"So," Iron Bull said behind him, "Zevran, right? The Queen tells me you're from Antiva. What's the hygiene situation like there?"

He whirled around and gave the quanari an incredulous look, but Bull didn't acknowledge it. Zevran took the question in stride. "Much lavisher than Ferelden's, I'm afraid to say. They are a lovely people, my new countrymen, but they do not appreciate the finer things in life. Or in cleanliness."

"Yeah, so I've heard. At length. Barely a bathtub in the whole nation, according to Vivienne."

"Too true. Even the palace in Denerim is sorely lacking. Only a small washroom, tepid water, and towels so rough they are like sandpaper." The elf gave a delicate shudder. "It is not to be spoken of."

Bull clapped a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "The Vint here complained about the same thing in Skyhold. Bitched so much the boss finally got him some fancy tub for his quarters, just to shut him up. Even got the construction guys to rig up a water source. Luckily he can make the water hot on his own, or he'd just start whining about the temperature." Bull tapped his finger to his cheek in a reasonable imitation of thinking. "Say, I'm guessing with all the traveling you've been doing for the Inquisition, you haven't had a good Antivan bath in a while. A Tevinter one is probably inferior, but better than nothing. Maybe Dorian could let you use it."

Zevran's eyes widened in innocent delight. "That would be marvelous! The dirt on my skin is agonizing." He turned to the mage. "If you wouldn't mind, of course?"

Dorian sighed. So much for subtlety. "I never mind sharing my bounties with the deserving. You're welcome to use it whenever you like."

"Excellent. Let us go now. I'll need your magic fingers." Zevran winked as he drained his glass, then wiggled them in a mage pantomime. "My daggers are deadly, and can make a man very cold, but they are worthless in making anything warm. I'll just go and tell my sovereigns goodbye." He danced into the crowd with a flourish.

Hawke giggled as Dorian stared after him. He turned back to Bull with a cutting remark on his lips, then thought better of it. "Thank you for that."

"Hey, Ben-Hassrath, remember? I know what people need." Bull gave him an affectionate smile. "And what you really need is to get over yourself. He seems like the right guy for the job. Plus, I may have my own mission tonight, but I never leave a man behind."

Dorian saluted sarcastically, finished his own drink, and made for the exit. Zevran emerged only a few minutes later, a broad smile on his face. "Shall we proceed? I look forward to examining the pleasures of your quarters very much." The elf's voice was pitched lower than it had been, into a silky range that made Dorian shiver in anticipation. He couldn't keep a devilish smile from his face. Zevran's fearlessness really was intoxicating, if terrifying.

The Antivan must have seen it in his eyes. His own darkened considerably, and he pulled Dorian into the shadows of the building. If Dorian had expected anything of a kiss, he'd expected dominance, aggression, maybe even a little mastery. Instead Zevran teased and nibbled at his mouth and neck, holding them apart with light strength and resisting any moves the mage made to increase contact. Just when he was about to resort to magic, the elf pushed him against the wall with his hips, letting the mage feel his desire. And feeling his own, most likely. Dorian hissed, and after one more dainty brush of his lips, Zevran stepped back.

"There. A not-quite-public display of affection. Not so bad as all that, was it?"

Dorian raised his eyebrow while he tried to get his composure back. Out here, away from all of the others, he felt less shame in being direct. "You'd better not be that delicate all the time. I happen to be a very powerful mage, in addition to being obscenely handsome."

"I have no doubt. Fear not. Your powers will not be necessary for me to behave as indelicately as you want me to." Zevran tilted his head to the side. "Except for the water. It chagrins me, but I really would like to use your bath."

Dorian walked towards the stairs, gesturing for the elf to follow. He made sure his arm flexed through the cut in his tunic, and he heard the man hum appreciatively. "As I said, you're welcome to it any time. As long as I'm in the room."


	3. Elissa Cousland 1

_A/N: I should say that a lot of the background for this comes from my Elissa/ Alistair fic, in which she doesn't tell Alistair about Morrigan's offer of the ritual, and they go through with it behind her back. Their romance takes place post-DA:O. Hopefully that provides enough context._

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><p>Elissa had never held any love for the Chantry or gardens. The Chantry caused as many problems as it solved in Thedas, so a wise ruler steered clear of their helpful suggestions. Gardens were merely groomed nature, and nature was generally a cover for ambushes. Skyhold's designers had, for some reason, combined both of the loathsome things into one courtyard, so it was hardly surprising she hadn't visited it in her week there. Zevran disliked snakes and schoolteachers, and if they'd had a courtyard full of those, he certainly wouldn't have entered it. Her lack of interest in enduring obvious torture was hardly anything anyone needed to mention, in her opinion.<p>

She slumped into the cushioned chair. Alistair's morning accusation floated through her mind. He'd called her a coward in his best almost-teasing tones, hard enough to get his message across but not so hard as to rile her to combat readiness. It was a delicate line, one he was an expert at these days. Some women might have been annoyed at a husband who'd mastered the boundaries of their moods so adroitly, but she was grateful. It saved a lot of wear and tear on the weaponry.

And Maker be damned, he was right. She was a coward.

The courtyard held a Chantry, which was annoying, and it grew some plants, which were ridiculous, but neither were what drove her away. She'd avoided it like a Blight because of the other things it held. A dark-haired mage, Chasind and devious. And a little boy, carrying a piece of something that should have died a long time ago. She wondered if he looked like his father, if they had the same easy smile or hazel eyes that never looked serious enough to suit. Would she recognize his spirit? Would she see the future version of her own son, now only five, and perfect, and so very far away from her so very much of the time?

That was the fear she ran from. She didn't want to see Alistair inside of a strange child as she saw him inside of her own.

It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. He'd never wanted Morrigan in any sense, even as a traveling companion, and their coupling had only been to save her own life. Well, for him. For Morrigan it had been a way of acquiring something she wanted, as everything she did was. Her lip curled sourly. Elissa knew she was being unfair to the apostate, who'd proven not only brave but helpful. She'd done everything Elissa had asked of her during the Blight, save leaving Alistair a virgin, and she was here helping the Inquisition just as ably from what Evelyn had said. It wasn't fair to hate her. But so many things weren't fair.

Alistair had seen them, of course, almost immediately on their arrival. He had no grudge to carry, and she supposed his curiosity about his child was natural enough. It didn't bother that he'd done so. What bothered her was that he refused to talk to her about it in even the broadest terms. He wanted her to see on her own, not use him as an intermediary, though she didn't know why he cared. His stubbornness on the issue was as annoying as it was perplexing. She shook her head slightly, trying to get her husband's pointed voice out of her head. So what if she was a coward? She'd never run from anything in her life. She think she deserved one weakness. Let it be this.

She looked at the mosaics around her in the curved room, trying to get lost inside of them. They were breathtaking, communicating deep feelings through the simple lines and vibrant colors the artist had chosen. Their apostate elf had created them, they'd said, and she wondered where he'd learned his craft. The Dalish she'd met had been uninterested in art that wasn't worn. She got the feeling that they considered it a burden to have to carry useless paper with them, and they were too cautious to leave things behind. But clearly this Solas had found something beautiful inside of him that would last.

At the thought, a slight figure came down the stairs and into the room. She half-rose out of her chair when she saw it was an elf. Probably Solas, and she was certainly intruding. As he came closer, she realized he wasn't Dalish at all, from the lack of markings on his face. Even more curious. Mages in Circles were allowed to make art, if they chose, but no one had ever spoken about the apostate like he'd come from a Circle. Perhaps he was Chasind. Either way, she was in his private space.

"Solas?" she asked, and he nodded. "I'm Elissa. I apologize for resting here, but the pictures drew me in before I knew it. They're beautiful, truly. I'll leave, if you want."

He waved her offer aside with a slight movement. "You're kind to speak of my work so, and kindness can never be unwelcome in these times. Please, stay as long as you like. I must warn you, I'm not always considered a good host. I tend to get lost in my work."

"Thank you for the invitation, which I gladly accept, but don't trouble yourself to entertain me. Pretend I'm not here. My thoughts are more than enough to keep me occupied."

"Is that so?" he asked, studying her. "Worries plague you, then?"

She shrugged. "No more than anyone else."

"I see." To her surprise, he walked out of the room without another word. At least he'd been honest about his lack of gracious hosting. She settled back to wrestle her mind into submission again. Before she'd made any headway, Solas returned with a tray holding a pot of liquid and two cups. He set them on the table next to her chair, then took his own seat on the other side of it. He poured a drink for them both, and she smelled it before drinking it. Her eyes widened in surprise. She'd expected tea, but this had a much more pleasant, fuzzed taste to it.

"Does this have alcohol in it?"

He smiled. "It contains many things, including alcohol. It's a very old recipe, mostly forgotten in Thedas, but it's very soothing." He took a drink himself. "Please don't tell anyone about it. They think it's simply a nasty tea that I drink, and I'd hate for them to learn the truth."

"Of course you have my silence, in payment for the gift. How did you find the recipe?"

"I learned it from my wanderings in the Fade. You'd be amazed at what some spirits remember of the past."

"You wander the Fade? On purpose?" She set the glass down on the table with an audible thump. "That's incredibly dangerous. What if a spirt takes over your mind? Do you even have Templar support while you do it?"

His eyes flashed. "What makes you think your human Templars can deal with anything I cannot? The Fade is only dangerous to those with limited understanding of their purpose. I am in no danger at all."

She snorted. "I've heard that before. Usually right before I have to cut an abomination's head off."

"Believe me or no. It makes little difference. Your kind is quick to judge and slow to understand."

Elissa sensed real hurt under his smooth tones, and any offense she felt was lost in the opportunity to pry beneath the surface. "You follow a human, though. Why, if you despise us so much?"

"I do not despise you. I am frustrated by you, yes, but you don't hate a child for its lack of knowledge. You try to teach her. The Inquisitor is a rare human, one who wishes to learn. Perhaps there will be more, in time." He took a drink and rubbed his forehead. "Forgive me. I should not have expected you to accept me so easily as she does."

At that, she bristled. "Are you saying that I'm an inferior human?"

"Not inferior. Only different. Evelyn trusts more easily, is slower to anger than I believe you to be." He smiled again. "In truth, I've been hoping to meet you for some time. The spirits tell your story in many places, but they are only reflections of the past, murky and imperfect. The picture they painted was fascinating, though, and your fire does not disappoint."

"You can see me, in the Fade?"

"Not you. Spirits emulating you. You have been the point on which many battles turn. Ostagar. Redcliffe. Denerim. Small or large, pivotal to one or all, you burn at their center. Whether oppressor or savior they cannot say, but they know you are the most alive of any warrior when you fight, and they clamor to hold your life."

She harrumphed into her cup as she picked it up and sipped again. It really was very soothing, and it smoothed out her edges a little. "I'm not sure I like that there are things out there telling my bloody story to wandering Fade visitors. I am slightly more than just a warrior. Sometimes."

"There are other stories. Your wedding, attended by the smallest, softest spirits in the Fade. The births of your children, pain and joy. They see small moments and large. I have seen the same." He paused. "And I know whose child stands in the courtyard you refuse to visit. I saw that moment, too."

"I don't know what you mean," she said automatically, but he only stared at her with too much knowledge. She sighed in defeat. "Why would the spirits care about that night?"

"I've asked myself the same question. He is a King, and spirits enjoy the power of a monarch. She is a powerful witch, and she used magic that hadn't been seen in quite some time. Even I was not familiar with all of it." He shook his head angrily. "But there was something else. Something about it that was important that they couldn't explain to me. I still don't understand."

She finished the drink. He looked slightly blurry in her eyes, and she wondered what exactly was in it. She hadn't felt this tipsy in a very long time. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you slip something in my drink so that I would be willing to answer your question?"

He looked at the floor. "There is nothing in it but what is usually there. However, without a tolerance, it is somewhat overwhelming."

"Well, Grey Wardens don't get drunk, so take that." She smacked her hand on the chair arm, missing slightly. She scowled. "Why not just ask Morrigan? Or hell, ask Alistair. Maker knows he's a horrible liar."

"Morrigan would never tell me anything, especially about her child. And as for Alistair, he would be my next choice. But like I said, I wished to meet you." He shrugged. "A spirit of wisdom, a friend before she died, was following your path through Thedas. She desired to understand your decisions, to find the wisdom they held. I would not leave her work undone."

"I'm sorry about your friend."

"Thank you," said Solas. She wanted to tell him, then, because of that simple thank you. Something about it spoke to the part of her that held things that no one could ever know. The elf in front of her seemed to understand the price that a life of importance demanded, though she couldn't guess why. He raised his eyebrows when she held her cup out for a refill. "Are you certain?"

"Cowards get drunk. I'm a coward. There's no wisdom in me. Your friend was wrong."

"I don't believe that is true." Nevertheless, he acceded to her silent demand. A smart choice. If he hadn't, she was just going to take it from him by force, mage or no.

She sat back and drank deeply. She felt its softness fill her. Solas wisely said nothing, just watched her. He knew he'd won. She needed to talk to someone who she didn't love, but who would understand. This was the best chance she would get. The drink was just an excuse. "Morrigan and Alistair created a child. But he's not just a child, he's a vessel. A vessel that holds someone else important." He raised an eyebrow, but let her continue. "When arch-demons die, a Grey Warden is supposed to die. You know what an arch-demon is, I suppose? Beneath the dragon, I mean? You seem to know everything else."

"Yes, I know how they came to be," he said in a low voice, and even drunk she couldn't miss the anger in his voice. He shook his head. "The Old Gods are legend. Why does that matter?"

"Well, you can't really kill one, hm? It's a sort of god thing. They just keep passing around, like a disease. A Warden can take it, let it die inside of him instead of continuing."

"I see." The anger in his voice deepened, but his face was impassive. "But both of you survived Denerim. And there were no other Wardens, from what I could see."

"Exactly. But sometimes there's another bottle." She stared at him until his eyes widened. She drained her drink. "Exactly."

"That's impossible. I would have -" He broke off. "That's impossible."

"Impossible or no, those are the facts. My husband has a god baby with an imperious apostate, and I am going to go see them right now." Her mouth took her by surprise, and her body stood up with little conscious thought. She stared down at herself, bemused, then nodded slowly. The room spun a little around her. "Yes. That's a good idea. Wisdom. I've got it."

Solas jumped up as well and put a hand on her arm. "Perhaps this isn't the best time."

She snarled. With a quick movement of her hand, she grabbed his wrist and wrenched it behind his back. He tried to struggle, but he had no chance. Even drunk she knew she was the best fighter in the whole damn realm. The Fade whispered around them as he called up magic in response to her attack, but she pressed her free hand to his throat. Lightning arced between them, but she ground her teeth and rode through it. The battle of wills was short but fierce, but eventually he passed out in her arms from the pressure point she'd located. She checked his pulse, to make sure he was alive, and it was strong under her fingers.

"Teach you to get a Queen drunk, boyo. Enjoy your Fade walk." She headed down the hallway on unsteady legs, a new mission burning bright in her mind.


	4. Elissa Cousland 2

When she reached the garden, the light streaming into it made her eyes water. She wiped at them with her sleeve, then scanned the courtyard closely. Reverend mothers, harried gardeners, wandering messengers. No scantily clad mages. No little boys. Movement in the corner of her eyes made her spin, and she immediately regretted it. She held on to the wall next to her and tried to still her rebellious stomach.

A voice rose from below her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little indisposed." She cracked an eye open and looked down to see a dark-haired boy standing next to her. Morrigan's coloring. And he was the right age. She forgot her dizziness and stepped towards him. He caught her arm to stop her from falling on her face. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Kieran," he said uncertainly. "You're the Queen."

"How do you know that?"

"My mother showed you to me when you got here. She said I wasn't supposed to talk to you. But she didn't say what to do if you're sick. I think that should be exception." He led her to a nearby bench, and they sat gingerly. Well, she did. He mostly stared at her with his dark eyes.

She studied him. He was so serious. There was no laughter on his face, no teasing in his eyes. Almost too solemn, really. Surely he couldn't be Alistair's. "Is your mother Morrigan?"

He nodded swiftly, without any hesitation, and then her heart broke in her chest. That was where her husband lived, in the easy trust of this child. Morrigan had been hard, suspicious, and surely would be no less so now with a child to protect. Of course she wasn't. She'd told Kieran to not even speak to her. Yet here he was, not only talking to her, but helping her, answering her questions. He was so young. Vulnerable. It shamed her, now, that Morrigan might have been right to warn him away from her temper. She could already feel it curling around her hands, wanting to make a new reality. One where Morrigan was a distant memory, and this boy no longer existed.

"A boy should always listen to his mother," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "I appreciate the help, but I don't want you to get into trouble." _I don't want to hurt you._

So swiftly it might have been a trick of magic, the eyes watching her turned ancient. The vulnerable, open look on his face was replaced with something amused and dry. "Elissa Cousland doesn't hurt innocents. She steps through the world on heavy feet, but only the guilty need fear her tread. Her blade cannot touch me, no matter how she itches to hold it." The face changed back to a bright, but not wise, boy's, and she shivered. That answered the question she hadn't asked, at least.

Before she could even try to reply, a voice called sharply across the courtyard. "Kieran. What are you doing?" Then the voice got closer, and it rose into slight panic. "Get away from her this instant."

The boy bounced up. "She was sick! And it's okay, she's nice. She's not scary at all, really."

Elissa met Morrigan's eyes as the woman strode over and grabbed her son by the shoulders. The witch spoke quietly. "At times the things which we need fear most are the things that look the nicest." Elissa looked away. "Go see Mother Giselle, Kieran. Try not to argue with her about the Maker."

"But the things she says make no sense! It's not right to let people say things that are silly," said Kieran, and Elissa snorted a laugh. He grinned at her.

"Regardless, one does not walk into a place as a guest and criticize their hosts," said Morrigan, in a tone that was so mother-like that Elissa's laughter only increased. "In the world, rude fools are plentiful. My son will not be one of them."

"Yes, Mother." He started to walk away, then ran back before the witch could react. He threw his arms around Elissa, and she responded without thinking. Morrigan gave a choked cry but didn't move, probably afraid if she did the Queen's temper would snap the leash. If only she knew. Kieran held a part of Alistair, and Alistair was her life. She closed her eyes.

"I'm glad I met you," he whispered fiercely. "My mom needs her friends." He released her and ran off. She looked after him, completely bewildered. Morrigan had certainly never been her friend.

"Does he always believe the best of people?" she asked.

Morrigan chuckled. "Yes, I'm afraid so. I would have perhaps chosen his father differently had I known what traits of mine would be overwritten in my son."

Ah, so it was going to be directness. Good. She didn't want to dance around euphemisms, especially in her current state. Elissa gestured to the empty seat next to her, and Morrigan took it warily. "At the time I did suggest Roirdan, if you recall."

"It may not have worked. Alistair was young and eager." Elissa hissed. Morrigan smiled archly. "Eager to save your life. I believe when it came to the act he was more eager to leave my bed than enter it. I certainly hope he's improved in technique, or your marriage must be frustrating indeed. Tell me, are you not happy to have survived?"

"I wasn't, for a long time." She shrugged. "I changed my mind."

"Or had it changed for you. His inability to stop speaking had to be useful sometime. I do hope it means you've stopped arguing. One thing I emphatically do not miss about those times is the two of you sniping across the fire at each other about every decision."

"Does that mean there are things you do miss? Like what, the constant fighting? Oghren's distillery smell? Zevran's flirting?" Morrigan wrinkled her nose, and Elissa laughed, but she saw sadness on the witch's face. She shifted uncomfortably. "Why does Kieran think that we're friends? You never liked any of us."

Then it was Morrigan's turn to look uncomfortable. "I grew up in the woods with only a mother who was cultivating my body for her possession. I was an apostate and Chasind, an object of fear or desire to any humans I did meet. In Orlais, this was much the same. I do not believe I've ever had friends. But a group of companions who neither ran away nor tried to share my bed, Zevran aside, is likely as close as I will ever come to the experience. And they are the few clean memories I have to share with a curious child."

She had no idea how to respond, but that was okay, because the door behind Morrigan suddenly blew open with rattling force, and Alistair and Leliana raced through it. They stopped short when they saw the two women on the bench, and Solas nearly ran over them. He had an ugly bruise on his neck, and she blushed. Ah. Yes, that had happened.

Alistair walked over to her. "Solas said you attacked him, then came here." He knelt and took her hands. "Are you okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't attack him. He was trying to stop me from coming, so I stopped him." Alistair groaned lightly, and she punched him on the shoulder. "I wanted to see. You're the one who told me to come out here in the first place, you know."

He rubbed his arm. "Well, yes, but I didn't mean quite like… hang on. Are you drunk?"

"No! I feel fine." She bounded up to prove it and ended up catching her balance on the wall behind her. Alistair stood up alongside her but wisely didn't touch her. She glared at the rest of them, daring them to disagree. None of them did, though Solas's smile was not quite nice. "Morrigan and I are just talking."

"I see," said Leliana. "In that case, why don't we all talk? Somewhere a little more private, maybe. It will be like old times around the campfire."

"Who are we going to get to dress up as Sten and Oghren?" asked Alistair. "Not to mention all of the darkspawn we'll need to really recapture those glory days."

The bard didn't acknowledge him. "Josephine's office will be available. I'll go get Zevran and some refreshments. Meet me there." She swept out, not waiting for a response.

Morrigan rose from her seat. "But Kieran -"

"I will watch the boy," said Solas. Morrigan looked uncertain. "He'll be quite safe with me. And I will not fill his head with any Chantry nonsense."

Alistair laughed. "You're lucky Leliana already left."

"I would not have said it otherwise."

Morrigan nodded her assent and left the courtyard. Alistair gestured for Elissa to follow, and she waved him forward. "I need to apologize to Solas first." He looked at her curiously but didn't argue as he left.

Solas folded his arms and looked at her. "An apology does not seem to be in your nature, Hero."

"It's not. Especially when I'm not sorry. What is in my nature is to say that if you hurt Kieran because of what I told you, the Fade will not be big enough to hide you from what I'll do."

"That I believe. But you needn't worry. If what you say is true, what he carries makes him more precious than anyone in Thedas, save the Inquisitor. He cannot be harmed." His eyes were serious and unreadable. "Go and enjoy your old times. The remainder of the tea is in my study, if you'd care to take it with you. Sometimes old times have no other cure."

* * *

><p>The first minutes were awkward beyond belief. Even Morrigan drank her wine with a nervous hand, and Elissa was heartily grateful for her herbal tea without the herbs. Talk was stilted and formal and danced around far too many topics for comfort. But slowly they relaxed, inch by inch, and soon the stiffness went out of their postures. The warmth of the fire brought back some of the old comradery, and a lot of the jokes. She shared a couch with Alistair, Morrigan had taken a chair across from them, and Zevran and Leliana both sprawled on the floor like kids.<p>

"So Zevran," said Elissa, "you seem in very good spirits this afternoon."

"Yes! I am quite happy, my friend. I have, at long last, had a bath worthy of the name here on the edge of your smelly country." Alistair made a noise of protest, and Zevran waved his hand in apology. "Our smelly country, forgive me. But it is quite breathtaking to be clean once more. Tevinter hospitality almost rivals Antivan for comfort."

"And the baths aren't bad either," giggled Leliana. Zevran grinned.

"Oh really, must the innuendos continue after so long a time? Have we not matured in the least in ten years?" said Morrigan. The rest of the group looked down at themselves, then shook their heads.

"If anything, I've improved my immaturity," said Alistair. "I've honed it to the sharpest edge it can hold and now wield it as I might a very silly blade, holding off all the diplomats of Thedas with its power."

Morrigan sighed. "But you're one of the most powerful people in the world. Can you not take even that seriously?"

"That's what my wife is for. She keeps me old." Elissa shoved him, and he kissed her.

"None of that. No canoodling. Unless, of course, I may join you," said Zevran. He looked around. "Or these ladies will consent to join me. Morrigan, may I say how pleased I am that you have retained your old style of dress. So dangerous and alluring. It tempts a man and warns him away, all in one strip of fabric. I have never met your equal."

"I have no desire to tempt anyone, elf, least of all you."

"I think what she's trying to say is that my prowess has ruined her for all future men," said Alistair, and Leliana snorted into her wine glass. "Once you've had the best, there's no going back I'm afraid."

Morrigan's eyes sought Elissa's, questioning, and she smiled at her encouragingly. Whether it was the fact that she now knew the limits of herself, that Kieran trusted her to be a friend to his mother, as his father had, or the drink in her hand, she had no desire to be difficult about the past. Morrigan needed this, he'd said. She should have it.

The witch cleared her throat. "I'm not sure one can ascribe the word prowess to an experience that lasts less than a quarter hour," she said. Alistair coughed and blushed to the very roots of his hair. Elissa's mouth dropped open, and Zevran and Leliana both rolled onto their backs, not even trying to hide their laughter. Morrigan lips held the slightest smile, and even that was enough to take some of the age out of her eyes.

Alistair turned to her. "Are you going to let her speak about your husband that way?"

She shrugged. "You brought it up."

He tried to cross his arms before realizing his glass was in the way. He glared at it. "Fine. See if I'm awake tonight when you come to bed."

Leliana sat up. "Oh Your Highness, never make a threat you cannot follow through on. Basic tactics."

"We'll just see about that. I have reserves of will that I haven't even begun to tap," he said. "What about you, little sister? We hear little of your Inquisitorial exploits. Surely there are some strapping young soldiers around tempting your eye?"

She only smiled, but Zevran shifted up on his elbow. "Common soldiers would never tempt our naughty lay sister, Alistair. However, a delicious Antivan is always enticing enough for any woman." His voice lowered suggestively, and Elissa tried to kick him. "Tell us about dear Josephine, my friend."

Elissa was shocked when Leliana actually blushed. "No! Really?" She looked around the office. "I never would have known from the way you two act."

"One is a bard, the other a diplomat. Skill in lying can obscure love as well as well as politics," said Morrigan thoughtfully. "Still, I too did not suspect. Quite clever of you."

Leliana drained her glass. "I should have known you would figure it out," she muttered at Zevran. "You really do always know." The elf looked amused, but not apologetic.

Alistair's voice came as if from a long way away. "Does that mean that this couch…?" When they turned to him, he was looking at it with a very red face. When Leliana nodded sharply, he put a hand over his mouth. "Well," he said in muffled tones. "That changes the tone of this entire reunion."

"I don't see how," said Elissa. "We've all been acting like children in the back of the Chantry since the moment we sat down. Tipsy children, but children nonetheless." She leaned back against the softness of the cushions. "Wake me up when we find our dignity."

Morrigan's voice pulled her eyes open again. "Before you sleep, please allow me to say this. Tis not always easy to see things from your past you thought best forgot. I fear this will not be the last hard thing any of us face from our histories. But it is comforting that it was not so hard as it could have been. As it was in my imagination. It speaks well of your capacity for goodness."

The Orlesian looked amused. "Are you trying to thank us?"

"Yes. Did I not say so?" Alistair shook his head with a smile, and Morrigan colored. "Ah. Well then, thank you. Thank all of you, for this kindness. It would have been easy to withhold."

"It wouldn't have," said Elissa. She looked at the mage. "Friends don't withhold kindnesses from each other. At least not for long." The rest of the group nodded, for once all serious.

Morrigan stood. "Well, yes. It is good to have… friends." She looked a little uncertain. "I need to go check on Kieran. Perhaps I will see you all at dinner?"

"Only if you don't mind eating with two of the most devastatingly handsome men in the hold," said Zevran. Alistair looked at him with a surprised smile, and he clarified, "Dorian and myself, of course."

"Ah. Of course."

The mage shook her head. "It will be fine. My son has been dying to ask questions of Uncle Zevran." Zevran's eyes widened in horror, and Morrigan smiled as she left.

"Uncle Zevran? Andraste, no, this will not do. I am not fit to uncle her child. I am barely fit to friend his mother."

Leliana laughed and pulled him to his feet. "You'd better learn. Sounds like you don't have a choice. I think you will make a truly darling uncle. How many can claim a former Crow?" They walked out, arguing with each other.

Elissa's eyes closed again, and she was drifting off when she felt a light nibble on her ear. She smiled. "What happened to your reserves of will?"

Alistair's voice rumbled against her skin. "That's for later tonight. For right now, you are delicious, and we are on a couch that was designed to subvert my will." She rolled herself to the side, her eyes still closed, and he kissed her lids before finding her mouth. She wrapped her hand around his head and pulled him against her. When they broke for air, she finally opened her eyes to see him smiling at her softly.

"What?"

"I'm proud of you. You did a brave thing. Do you feel better now?" She nodded, and he tucked her hair behind her ear. "They call you Hero for all the wrong reasons, you know. The big things are easy for you. It's in the small moments where you're truly brave. I love that about you."

"Even if it takes me a few stiff drinks to find it?"

"Especially because of that. Remind me to get this tea recipe from Solas. It could be very useful when I want to get my way."

She laughed and pushed herself onto his lap. "You have a much more potent weapon than tea to control me, my dear."


	5. Leliana

Leliana wrote at her desk late into the night. She pushed her hair back from her face and sighed. _If people only realized how much paperwork there was in the life of a spy, they'd soon stop writing cheap thrillers about it,_ she thought. Of course, Varric had decided to enter the genre now that he'd given up the life of a spy network chief. He claimed he wouldn't give away any trade secrets, but she wasn't worried. He barely knew half of what he thought he did about the craft. She meant to keep it that way.

She dipped her quill into the ink again, scratching the codes that were second nature to her. One code for truth. Another code for the lies that she only wanted Tevinter to read. Another for everyone's consumption, everyone with a half-decent spy network anyway, with a second code inside of it for only her own people. She held a hundred languages inside of her head, even more than people suspected, and they were all deadly. This note for ruin. This note for discovery. This note for ruin. This note for death.

The Inquisitor had asked her to kill again, as she did more and more often as the enemies piled up too fast to reason with. Josie, soft and gentle, always wanted to take the slow path. Leliana was the only one who'd noticed that the ambassador's actions were being restricted more and more to Val Royeaux. The game was understood there. Time could be taken. There was no time to be had in the Imperium.

Finally she reached the last stack of papers. She always saved this to the end, when her energy would be the lowest. This was the pile that would tell her the secrets of the inner circle of the Inquisition. The last one she read was always her own. It was always good to know what your spies did and didn't know about you. Or, more likely, what they chose to reveal and hide. Everything was a test.

She started in with gusto. Cullen was still struggling with lyrium, no surprise, but he'd taken to praying half the night which wouldn't be good for his focus_. More coffee at the War Table. _Varric's Bianca had been seen in Ferelden, buying a large quantity of silver. Varric's business partners in the Free Marches just happened to need that exact quantity, but without the fuss of an import tax. _Possible leverage._ Dorian had received a package from Tevinter he hadn't wanted anyone to see. Further examination when he'd been out of his room revealed it was a special oil meant for mustache rejuvenation. _Make fun of the limpness of his facial hair._

At a footfall on the stair behind her, she shuffled the papers away with gentle movements. "It's quite late for you to be unaccompanied, isn't it Bull?" she asked without turning around.

"Hey, Red," he said. "Nice eyes you've got in the back of your head."

She shrugged and turned towards him. "A lucky guess."

"Nah. You heard my horns scrape the stone on top of the door when I came up. Plus your birds never rustle when I walk in. Too afraid to move."

"With those skills, you'd almost make a decent spy. A shame you can't resist telling everyone that you are one. Rather ruins the mystique."

The quanari walked around the desk and settled into the chair across from her. She winced as it groaned under his weight, and he grinned. "Don't worry, it'll hold. As for my occupational choices, they work for me. And they work for my bosses. You don't have to be subtle if you're good." He set a bottle and two glasses on the table. She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you saying I'm not good?"

"You're better than good, and you know it. If we'd had you back in Kirkwall that situation wouldn't have gone all to shit like it did. Though even the dwarf could have managed that situation. That idiot Arishok couldn't find one lousy Rivaini in all those years, even when she'd slept with half the city and made eyes at the other half. Plus she ran around with Hawke. The person the Arishok talked to more than anyone but the Viscount's kid." Iron Bull set his voice up a couple of octaves. "'But she never came inside our camp itself!' Idiots."

She laughed and reached for a glass. He poured her a drink and then himself. When he raised her glass, she tapped it lightly with her own, then drank. "What do you want, Bull?"

"Direct, huh? I like that. Of course, with you I know if you're coming at me from the front where I should really be looking is behind me." She didn't answer, but unlike most of the people she talked to, he didn't seem to care.

They drank in silence for a time, waiting to see who would break. She was irritated when it turned out to be her. "You didn't answer me."

He smiled. "Right. Knew I'd forgotten something. So, I was talking to that sexy Ferelden Warden about you."

"Which one?" she asked, smirking.

"Red. Come on. They're both fine, but there's only one who sliced the head off of a dragon." He licked his lips. "She reminds me of the Seeker after a fight. Blood lust pumping and eyes full of battle. The Warden doesn't need to spill blood to get that way, though. Very alluring."

"You realize she's married. To a King."

"Everyone has their flaws. I'm happy to work past it." Ale sloshed over his hand as he made a graphic gesture. Leliana rolled her eyes. "Anyway, she was telling me a story about you. About your former mentor, too. She sort of told me without telling me that it was ten years ago today that you killed her."

She didn't react, and he nodded. "Yeah, I thought you'd already know. She must have, too. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"That's fine, too." He poured another round.

Leliana went back to reading the reports in front of her, no longer caring if he saw. Evelyn had stopped striking with her left dagger in the yard. _Possible injury._ Blackwall's latest, pointy carving had been stolen and put on the throne right before the Inquisitor sat down. _Sera_. Josephine's latest trip to Val Royeaux had included a stop in a shoe store, through the back entrance when she thought no one could see. _Remember to act surprised at the gift._

"What do they say about me?" Bull asked casually.

"Once I told them to stop chronicling every sexual partner you had, the reports got much shorter." Her mouth twisted when he laughed. "They're more about the Chargers than you, these days."

He stopped laughing with frightening speed. "Leave my squad alone, Red."

"I'm not going to hurt them."

"They're mine."

"They're mine. You all are. We pay you well to be so."

He slapped the table in disgust. "You think we're still here for the pay?"

"No. But you still take it," she said.

"Yeah, you have a point." He took a pull off of his ale and sighed. "Did I ever tell you why I went to the re-educators? I know you won't find it on those little pieces of paper you push around. I have a different story I usually tell about the experience."

She shook her head. He leaned forward. "I killed my commander. Well, he wasn't really a commander, but you wouldn't understand the Qunari word for it. He had authority over me, we'll say that. He started losing it, I mean really losing it. But he stayed inside the Qun, just so, really smart-like. There was never anything I could report back, even though I knew he was a step away from taking us all Tal-Vashoth whether we wanted it or not."

Arrows whispered as Marjolaine fell to the ground.

He watched her face. "Yeah. Sometimes it's that fast. I killed him on patrol, blamed it on the Fog Warriors. No one blinked. And I realized how easy it was to do what I decided rather than what the Qun said. I realized I was half losing it myself. I turned myself in, did the right thing. But it was close."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've never done anything worse. I've killed a lot of people in a lot of ways, and not all of them were exactly quick and easy. Some lasted a long time, and the guys were screaming before it was over. This was worse. Not because it was harder, but because even as I was doing it I knew I shouldn't have to. That I was making a choice that maybe wasn't necessary." He paused. "And the hell of it is, I'm still proud of it."

The chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "Wouldn't think we'd be so proud of the worst parts of ourselves, would you?" Her face gave nothing away. She knew it. Bull didn't need it to. "Josephine's back. Hit her room about an hour ago."

"Thank you."

"No problem. By the way, let me know when you're going to make fun of the Vint's mustache cream. I've been thinking of some good lines. We could tag team."

"It's this uncivilized cold air," she said in a reasonable approximation of Dorian's cultured tones. Bull grinned. "If only the ancient elves had built their hidden stronghold somewhere a little less barbaric."

"Who knew a Vint's lip hair would shrivel up before his balls?" He headed to the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, "Keep the bottle, Red. It's not the best stuff, but it's what there is. No sense regretting what it isn't."

* * *

><p>Leliana took it with her when she slipped into Josie's rooms a few minutes later. The ambassador whirled around, settling back into a truly deplorable fighting stance, and the bard couldn't stop a laugh. "Maker, Josie, no one would ever believe you'd trained in Orlais."<p>

"I had more important things to interest me than grappling about. Words make the best weapons." Josephine smoothed down her traveling clothes with a dignified hand.

"You'll get no argument from me."

"A welcome change." She disappeared behind the changing divide carrying an armload of clothing. "You're here late. I thought you'd be sleeping."

"There were several reports to go through." _And I didn't want to sleep without you_. "Nothing critical, but better to go through it when I have no distractions." She smiled devilishly when Josie's head peeked back around the wooden stand.

"Give me a few more minutes to unpack, and we'll see how much of a distraction I can become."

Leliana crossed to the bed and lay back. The stone ceiling above her was only marginally more interesting than the paperwork she'd slogged through that day. "I missed you," she called out.

"Patience!"

She propped up on her elbows and took a drink from the bottle. "No one has ever been more patient than I was today. Unpack later."

"I must hang up these last few things. They will wrinkle horribly if I don't." The bard flopped back again, scowling. When Josie came back, her face filled with concern as it hovered over Leliana's. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing, now." She pulled the Antivan down to her and captured her mouth. Josie braced herself against the bed and returned it, but with a hesitation that had Leliana growling.

"Have you been drinking? While you were working?" Josie sounded incredulous. "Something must be wrong. Tell me."

Leliana rolled away from her and made to sit up. The ambassador restrained her with a surprisingly strong grip, and she struggled ineffectually against it. "This was a mistake. I can see you tomorrow, Josie."

"You can, and you will, but you will also see me now." A smile tugged at her lips. "There will be no negotiating this decision."

"And I have no leverage, clearly."

"None at all." Josie coaxed her backwards on the bed and stretched out next to her. She ran her fingers through the bard's hair, and Leliana relaxed under her touch. "Tell me."

She thought back to Bull's story. "Ten years ago I did a terrible thing, and I'm still proud I did it."

"I see. This was during the Blight, yes?" Leliana nodded, and Josephine continued. "Did it save your life?"

She thought. "I suppose it did. Not at the time, but later certainly."

"Then I'm also proud you did it."

Leliana turned her head to look at her face. It was serene and accepting. "You don't even know what it was."

"I don't have to. Not if it meants you're here, now." Josephine kissed her with gentle pressure. Leliana responded, and the next few minutes were lost in the warmth of a much-needed embrace. When they broke apart, the bard's smile was genuine though tears graced her eyes. Josephine smoothed her thumb across the flushed cheek beneath her. "You are extraordinary, my love. Anything you undertook to accomplish could not be wrong."

She thought again of Marjoliane, a woman who'd also thought her extraordinary, but not for love. How many nights had they spent in beds like this, talking about her future and what a fine bard Leliana would be? Always later, though, as soon as she'd performed one more small service. After she'd stolen one more secret, seduced one more diplomat, killed one more guard. She would be great, Marjolaine had promised. She'd cared for people only for what they could give her. "That can't possibly be true about anyone, Josie."

"Nevertheless," she said. "Diplomacy may lack the bloodshed of other roads, but it's no less hurtful for that. None of us have the luxury of simple lives. Which secret to tell, which heart to stab, which person to destroy with a word. I don't deny you may have done things another person would condemn. But that other person lacks the knowledge I have. I know your heart."

"You should. It is yours, after all."

"Exactly. Keep the secrets you need. Remember the past if you must. But don't regret it. I will not allow you to doubt yourself." Josie rolled off the bed. Leliana made a noise of protest and was promptly shushed. "I was going to give you this tomorrow night, after dinner with the Duke, but I think now would be more appropriate."

She came back holding a box, of roughly shoe size, and Leliana sat up eagerly. Even though the gift itself wasn't a surprise, what the shoe looked like always was. She opened the box slowly, wanting to savor the reveal, but frowned when she saw only a smaller box inside. "Josie, what is this?"

"Keep going," she answered with exasperation.

Another box, and another box, each smaller and smaller. T_he shoes are only going to fit the feet of a nug by the time I get to the end of this,_ she thought wryly. Finally the last box, the smallest of all, held a delicate silver chain. She pulled it out and held it in front of her. The symbol of the Maker swung there, intricately carved into a square of pure silver. Leliana bit her lip and looked at the diplomat. She was smiling a self-satisfied smirk. "This was supposed to be shoes," said Leliana.

Josie laughed. "So I finally fooled your crafty spies, then?"

"Completely. It's beautiful. Thank you." She turned around to let Josephine clasp it around her neck.

Before the Antivan did, she wrapped her arms around Leliana and held the symbol in front of her. "This way you will always hold the two dearest things in the world next to your heart. The Maker, and me." She flipped the square over to show her name carved with the touch of a ghost into the back of the pendant.

Leliana felt tears again, but her voice was only amused. "Josie, did you carve your name on the Maker's ass?"

"No! Of course not! That is simply… no!"

She twisted around to kiss the other woman again. "I think you did. I love it even more, now. Very wicked of you." The Antivan grumbled and turned her around again, fastening the necklace with a final grunt. Leliana reached down to settle it under her shirt, where it fit softly against her chest. "It's a shame it's not the only thing I'm wearing."

"I agree completely. So what shall we do now, Nightingale?" Josie's tone was husky as she pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. Leliana shivered as tanned hands reached under her tunic and began to tug it gently upward. Her lover's hands pushed away the bad memories and left only goodness in their wake. Goodness and desire.

"Make me sing, Josie."


	6. Sera

"That's the pot for me. Eat it!" Sera scooped the coins out of the center of the table with a cackle. The better-dressed players made noises of disgust. As was only right. Even though they'd wised up and stopped playing with her friends, none of these fancy nobles dreamed that the entire tavern staff was feeding her everything they could. Combined with an iron stomach and her skill at the game, none of them stood a chance.

She grinned up at them as they stood to leave. "What, giving up? Shame, I thought you were all going to turn it around." She called after them as they filed out. "Nice playing with you, yeah?"

The elf handed around some of the winnings to the people who'd helped and gave the rest to one of the serving girls who'd been getting a little sick in the mornings lately. For herself she kept just enough coin to buy a drink and settled down at the bar to go at it alone. She kicked her feet against the stool and hummed a little off-key, frowning when she realized she was humming "Sera Never Was". That damn minstrel woman was a right pain in the ass. She didn't need some singer making sheep's eyeballs at her and making up songs that were stupid. She changed the words to be about a bard who met a horrible death and went back to waiting for the next thing to happen.

She didn't have to wait long. The tavern door slammed open in a decidedly aggressive way, and half the patrons had their hands at their sword belts before they saw it was Josephine. The chuckles spread slowly and quietly, but they were all centered on her barstool. Krem in particular was enjoying himself, standing on his chair so as not to miss anything. She tipped him a wink as the ambassador advanced on her.

"Sera! You have been told repeatedly not to… hustle the nobility who travel to the hold. We cannot afford to cultivate a reputation as an institution which invites the wealthy here to rob them." The Antivan stopped only an arm's length away from her and placed her hands on her hips.

"They wanted to play, didn't they? No one got their arm twisted. Maybe their wallets."

"Perhaps they wished to play in a friendly, fair game of chance. I do not believe any of them were interested in what you provided."

She grinned widely. "Are you saying I cheated?"

"I am saying it. Yes! You cheated. We've received numerous complaints."

"Losers are sore, especially when they're tits. Tell them to go cry in their silk handkerchiefs and leave the rest of us to our honest, law-abiding peace."

Josephine's eyes flashed fire. "The Inquisitor will hear about this, Sera." The elf only laughed as the ambassador spun on her heel and left. Krem and Varric both wandered over to her as soon as the diplomat cleared the door. Varric shook his head, and Krem wore an expression of mock sternness as he waggled his finger at her.

"You really do have a way with people," said Varric. She blew a raspberry. "No, I mean it. I'm considering hiring you to be my face with the merchant's guild."

"Your face will certainly speak volumes," said Krem. "I'm just glad she gets the ambassador all hot and bothered and in the bar. Always a sight for sore eyes in this place."

"You trying to horn in on Blackwall's territory?" she asked curiously.

Varric laughed. "I think he's treading into much more dangerous waters than a burly Grey Warden's if he's got his eye on the lovely Josephine."

"Hate to break it to you, but my interests tend to steer in an entirely different direction. But you can't blame a man for looking, can you? Besides, she strikes me as a woman who isn't the territory of anyone. More like the goddess." Krem grinned.

"Yeah, well, whatever right? She's protecting a bunch of assholes. I was even nice to them. One of them tried to touch me, a lot. I let him keep his fingers, took his coin instead. She should be happy!"

Before the men could respond, the door banged open again. No one bothered reaching for weapons this time. Evelyn's angry arrivals were always obvious from the green glow that preceded her. She looked around distractedly, then zeroed in on them. Varric tried a smile. "Your Worship! I was just thinking it's been far too long since I bought you a drink."

"Not now, Varric," she said. He rocked back on his heels, a little surprised. Krem took the opportunity to steal his drink. Evelyn crossed her arms and looked at the winsome elf in front of her. "Sera, Josephine says you robbed a bunch of nobles."

"What? That's just - I did not!"

"Well…" said Krem under his breath, and she kicked him.

"Look, I don't have time for this today. Whatever happened, just stop it. They're screaming bloody murder in the Hall, and now we're negotiating reparations. We're not made of money. Or time," she added to herself.

"Repara-whats? Wait, you're giving them their money back?" Sera stood up quickly, clenching her fists. "That's disgusting! You can't do that."

"Their money plus some, according to Josephine. And she didn't give me much of a choice. Apparently one of them is very critical to something. Or maybe his cousin is. Or his dog. Someone is critical. So cut it out, okay?"

Sera paced the length of the bar. "If I'm such a bother maybe I shouldn't even be here, yeah? Your noble Inquistorialness?"

"Don't be silly. Of course you should be here, Sera. You're valuable to us." Evelyn looked behind her. "I have to go. Varric, if Josephine asks, tell her I talked to Sera, okay? She didn't seem like she believed me when I said I would."

"No problem. So hey, how's Curly doing?"

Evelyn stopped mid-turn, looking hunted. "What do you mean?"

"He got back last night, didn't he? From that recruitment jaunt? Haven't seen him a few weeks, just wondered how it went."

"I haven't seen him either. Too many things to do," she said. Her face was a little wistful. "Cassandra said it went fine." Evelyn left without closing the door, as always. Krem nodded to the man sitting at the table near it, and he complied.

"Poor Inquisitor," said the Tevinter. "It's one thing to be afraid of making a move. It's another to not have the time to do it. To be both? Brutal."

Varric chuckled. "I'll keep working at it."

"Who cares about some stupid lovey dovey crap? She as good as told me I'm not as important as those tosspots from the land of sticks up their asses. 'You're valuable to us.' Like I'm a sword or something. Pah! Once a noble always a noble," Sera said. She pushed away from the bar and headed for the stairs.

Krem grabbed her arm. "Give her a break. She's trying to keep a lot of people happy."

"Yeah, yeah, she's big and important and going to save the world. Too big for us to topple. We're all just her tools." She glared at him and wrenched her arm away. "Some of us more than others."

* * *

><p>Sera spent the next few days trying to come up with a revenge. In spite of her words she didn't really want to destroy the Inquisitor. Just sort of remind her who mattered. She pulled some small tricks with the help of friends. Switched out Evelyn's formal shirt with one of Dorian's, kept her distracted enough that she didn't know her shoulder was showing until Leliana turned her around and marched her out of the Hall. Stole all of her writing supplies. Swapped out the pegs on the War Table for dead bugs. But none of them were big enough for a lesson, just enough to keep her irritated.<p>

Of course, it wasn't only about the Inquisitor. Krem's supply of socks was mysteriously replaced by much, much smaller items, and Josephine barely made it through a day without getting water splashed on her from some source or other. The servants of the hold were especially angry with the diplomat who'd sided against them.

That was why she'd snuck into her office in the middle of the night. She searched her desk, looking for the cryptic scheduling notes that would tell them where to set up their cleaning crews the next day. Her friends had volunteered to do it for her, but rifling through the Antivan's papers was pretty big stuff. Nothing she wanted to fall on their heads. She made quiet notes to herself as she carefully picked up and replaced everything, until a buried note caught her eye. She read it with growing glee. A Free Marchers noble bigshot, coming for a visit. Old friend of Evelyn's. Perfect.

* * *

><p>The next morning she bounded into the Commander's office, then frowned when it was empty. Typical. She amused herself by rearranging exactly one-third of his books into a new configuration. She stepped back with a pleased grin. If you squinted, their heights now shaped out a nicely phallic shape. She was giggling madly when a form swung down the ladder.<p>

Cullen stopped short. "Sera," he said warily.

"Good morning, yeah?"

"Yes. You're up… suspiciously early." He studied her. "If you're looking to recruit me into something, the answer is no. Whatever feud you have with the Inquisitor is your business."

"Oh Culley-Wulley, I would never do that." He winced at the nickname. "You're too important for me to be bothering with! I actually brought you some food." She gestured to the low table behind her.

"Is it poisoned?"

"No! The Inquisitor's been saying how she's worried about you, didn't think you were getting your breakfast with the reports you do. I volunteered to bring it up. Kind of a peace offering."

"That's very big of you, Sera. Thank you." His eyes softened at the mention of Evelyn's concern. Cullen was so easy. He walked to the chair and sat, eating the food entirely unsuspiciously. Good for him she hadn't actually done anything to it.

She sat next to him and kicked up her feet. "So, busy day we're going to have, innit?" His mouth was full, but he pantomimed to the effect that every day was busy. "But it's not every day we get to meet Evelyn's future husband."

He choked. "I'm sorry?"

"You hadn't heard? It's all anyone's talking about out there." She waved towards the courtyard. That at least wasn't a lie. Her friends had made sure of it, and there was nothing the fortress liked to talk about more than sex. "I guess it was some secret. Some noble thing. She wasn't important enough, and they couldn't get married. But now she's the great and worshipful Herald, so it's all good, yeah?"

Cullen pushed his plate away. "They'd mentioned that Bann Alverson was coming, but I had no idea…" He rubbed the back of his neck, and Sera felt a tiny twinge of guilt. _It's all for the greater good_, she thought to herself. "Well, it's certainly nice when love works out, isn't it."

"Exactly." She stood. "I'm probably keeping you from stuff. Sorry. But I hope you like the breakfast."

"Yes, thank you again." He barely looked at it. She skipped out the door just in time for a couple of soldiers to pass her. They were whispering about the Bann's visit in tones that weren't quite hushed enough.

"And I heard they've been keeping up secret correspondence for years."

"Yes, me too. He threw over a duchess to ride here and demand her hand." Sera grinned. That was a good one! She hadn't even come up with it. When she reached the stable yard, Varric was waiting for her.

"Hey short stuff," she said casually.

"Good morning. Lovely day for a rumor, wouldn't you say?"

"I've already been hearing a really good one."

"It's got a lot to recommend it. Secret and forbidden passions, a handsome noble, a scorned woman redeemed." He crossed his arms. "It was you, wasn't it?"

She looked around to see if anyone could hear them, then nodded gleefully. "Don't tell her though."

"Don't worry, I'm on your side. I added a few things, actually." She looked at him questioningly. "Hey, you have your agenda, I have mine. If this doesn't get them over their shyness, nothing will."

* * *

><p>The arrival of the Bann was everything she could have hoped for. The Hall was packed to the rafters with watchers, even on the balcony where she sat, swinging her legs. Evelyn kept looking around, clearly confused, but she was too polite to say anything. The noble himself seemed well enough, Sera supposed, though she wasn't much of a judge of these things. But from the way Dorian hummed next to her, he must be attractive. Even better. When he bowed to the Inquisitor and kissed her hand, the entire building sighed with satisfied longing.<p>

Evelyn accepted it graciously, though she looked more confused than ever. They exchanged words that Sera couldn't hear, but when two servants approached to lead them away, the Inquisitor's voice raised in a yelp. "A private meal? That's certainly not…"

They made soothing murmurs, and Varric stepped up to add his voice to the discussion. Slowly, persuasively, the Inquisitor and the Bann were led through the door to her room. As soon as it closed, the crowd exploded in speculation.

* * *

><p>Sera made sure to be hanging around Cullen's office for the rest of the day, waiting for Evelyn to show up. He'd holed himself up in it, had barely left to use the lav, so she'd have to come here to see him. Two things could always be counted on with nobles. One was that they would always make the time to do whatever they wanted. Two was that they were always the last to know what people were actually saying about them. She couldn't wait.<p>

Krem caught her pacing the battlements. "A bit cruel of you, this rumor business. You realize that, right?"

She waved him away. "Nah. It won't last, and they'll be back to making smoochy faces over the War Table and making the rest of us sick. Meantime she'll learn that the little people around her have a lot more power over her life than she thinks. Maybe she won't be so quick to side with the idiots next time."

He sighed. "I realize this may be foreign to you, but some people have actual emotions. Feelings." She stared at him blankly. "Love isn't always just sex. Sometimes things get broken that don't just get fixed again by a roll in the sheets."

"But Varric said this would be good for them."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Are you saying you did it because you thought it would be?"

She scowled at him. "It's just a prank. Something silly, keep everyone on the same level."

"Vishante kaffas! You're too smart to think that." He looked at her in disgust.

"Fine! Maybe I wanted her to lose a little. See what it was like when someone didn't think she was the best person in the world. It's not nice!" Sera kicked the wall with her shoe. "But I'll fix it if it breaks. I will."

"That's all I ask."

She gave him a sidelong look. "So, talking of all of this emotions and feelings shit, you know I like women right? I don't advertise but it's how it is. I mean, I know about your, like, sock situation, but you're a man."

"Don't I know it. Don't worry. Like I said, I'm usually steering into a different wind. The Bann is very attractive." He walked away, but called over his shoulder, "By the way, I still want my socks back."

* * *

><p>Krem's talk had taken away much of her pleasure. When Evelyn came to Cullen's office just before dinner, she shimmied up the wall and listened from the loft as they talked past each other.<p>

"The Bann will be a valuable ally," said Cullen after they got past the niceties. "It's good to secure such a strong partner for the Inquisition."

"Yes," she answered. "He's been a good friend for a long time. His father was a nasty, snobbish man who never would have accepted us. He always hated me. I hate to rejoice at anyone's death, but…"

There was a long pause. Evelyn's voice came again, more hesitantly. "I was hoping you would join us for dinner tonight. He'd like to meet you."

"Ah. I'm not sure that would be - I mean, I don't think that's possible. The new recruits will be here tomorrow, and I need to prepare for their arrival." Another pause. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Cullen." A soft footstep scraped across the stone. "I missed you."

"Inquisitor," said Cullen, suddenly stiff and formal. "I know that in the past there have been some indications that I would - well, that we would - but either way I don't think they are, well, appropriate. At this time. If you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to." His voice softened, just a little. "And I'm sure they're waiting for you."

Sera wanted to vomit, but this time it wasn't all from their ridiculous sappiness. She heard the door open and quickly clambered back up and through the hole in the ceiling, looking for Evelyn's form walking across the bridge. Nothing there. She looked down. A blond head, hidden inside a recess in the wall, was beneath her. The Inquisitor's shoulders were slumped and broken, and Sera suspected she was crying. Feelings were such horseshit. After a long minute, Evelyn wiped her hands over her face and left. Sera sat perched on the roof and thought harder than she ever had.

* * *

><p>After their boring noble dinner, Sera burst into the Inquisitor's room. Evelyn, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, Dorian and the Bann all stared at her from their chairs. She shrugged and grinned. "This is a horrible place for a reunion. You'll never have any fun on this stuffy furniture. Come to the bar!" She held out a bottle of whisky she'd appropriated. "I'll even let you have this!"<p>

Cassandra made a noise of protest, but the Bann stood. "I've been dying for a bar since I got here. Please? I'm so sick of being a noble. I barely know how to do it."

Dorian laughed. "You'll pick it up. As another member of the very exclusive club of 'men disowned by their fathers', let me tell you that nobility beats dirt every time."

"Maybe. But not quite yet. What do you say, Ev?" She agreed without much enthusiasm but rose when he held out his hand. They filed out, Cassandra grumbling the entire way. She handed the bottle off to Dorian as he passed.

"Great! I'll meet you there, yeah? Just got something to see to."

Leliana murmured on her way out, "I hope you know what you're doing." Sera smiled uncertainly. They'd certainly find out.

* * *

><p>She gave them ten minutes to get to the bar and get settled, then steeled herself outside. The tavern was packed, full of gawking romantics who'd seen them trailing through the courtyard, and there would be no better time. Andraste's tits this was a horrible plan. But it was the only one she had. She opened the door in front of her dramatically and winced when it caught a man across the back of the head<em>. Sorry, sorry. Dramatic entrances, not happening.<em> His friends picked him up off the ground as she swept past.

The knot of nobles sat in a table in the middle of the room. Perfect. She stomped up to them wildly and struck the Bann in the face. Josephine goggled, and Evelyn looked horrified. She ignored them. "You tit!" she yelled, making sure her voice carried. "You said you'd always love me! And now you're what, chasing up another skirt? And all that? Well that's crap. Just 'cause I'm an elf doesn't mean you can just, you know, move on. I won't let you." She tried to remember the horrible script that Varric had given her.

The Bann stared at her, utterly mystified as he rubbed his face. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He didn't even recognize her from the Inquisitor's room. Unsurprisingly. She had a ribbon in her hair and some kind of, like, color on her face, courtesy of Vivienne's room. What the mage didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Or Sera. Though she felt like an idiot.

"Oh, do you know me? Good one. Right. Like you can forget all of our nights of… passion. And torridness. And torrid passion!" He stared at her like she'd grown another head. Evelyn's mouth was open wider than a sloth demon's. Sera knew she was losing it, so she skipped to the end of the page and kissed the human right on the mouth. She flung herself into his lap and gave it all she had.

_Ugh, he's all like, hard and stuff. How do women do this?_

She heard Leliana choking back dangerous amounts of laughter behind her and she hoped no one else noticed. Probably they didn't. Most of the bar was hooting and hollering, and between that and the scandalized gasps no one was noticing much of anything but her performance. Evelyn cried "Sera!" in total confusion, and Sera knew she had to move this along. The Bann was still too shocked to do anything, but she sensed he was getting ready to dump her on the floor.

Sera moved her mouth to his ear and spoke as quickly as she could. "Look I need you to do this to help out Evelyn. She's sad. Trust me. You're in love with me."

The Bann pulled her head away from him and stared at her. She tried to look back in lovestruck anger while communicating that she wasn't a lunatic. This wasn't as easy as she'd thought given that noises of what sounded like Dorian slapping Leliana on the back to get the bard to breathe were coming from behind her head. Cassandra's sputtering and Josephine hissing like a teakettle about to boil over also weren't helping. But whatever he saw must have convinced him. He took a deep breath and put one hand over his heart while winding his other behind her back. "Yes! Sera! I will keep my feelings chained no longer. You're the only woman for me. Please forgive me for my weak indiscretions, my love." He was practically exploding with mirth, but the room around them was hanging on every word.

Maker's asshole. Now what? He smoothly went on. "Is there a place I can ravish you as you deserve, my beautiful elven goddess?" Ah, yes. Good idea. She nodded up the stairs, and he picked her up with little apparent effort and carried her to them. At their foot, he kissed her again, grossly, and she resisted the urge to hit him. He turned back to the room and bowed, almost sending them to the ground. "My apologies to you all, but love cannot be denied."

He swung her over his shoulder, and this time she did hit him. On her way up she saw Cullen walk through the door with Varric, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now it was up to the dwarf.

* * *

><p>"What in the Maker's name was that about?" the Bann said from her windowsill. He was still laughing. "Not that it wasn't the most hilarious thing I've done since the time we colored naughty pictures on a Grand Cleric's robes, but I'm still not sure what I was doing."<p>

"It's kind of a long thing, yeah?" But he only looked at her, so she explained about the nobles and the money and the payback and the marriage rumor as best she could. He looked no less confused when she was done, which was the standard response when she tried to explain anything. "Look, all you need to know is I let people think you were going to marry Evelyn, and it messed up someone who actually liked her, and this was the only way to get the rumors sort of overwritten. None of it makes any sense, but it will be enough to get things kind of back to normal and clear the way for a new romantic story for her. Okay?"

He held up his hands. "If it helps her out, I'm fine with it. She's always been a good friend to me, even when no one else was." The man crossed his legs. "I take it this has something to do with the Cullen I've heard so much about? She never stopped talking about him all day."

She nodded and made a face. "They're disgusting."

"But you helped them anyway. Good of you. And if I'm not mistaken, you did something you consider highly unpleasant to do it." He laughed again when she looked at him guiltily. "It's okay. My only request is that I'm allowed to be there when you explain it to Evelyn. The look on her face will be priceless. Especially when she realizes you mostly pranked yourself."

"I probably owe you more than that," she said grudgingly. "After all, you're the guy who spurned the Inquisitor twice now. And you didn't even do it once."

He shrugged. "I'll drink off of it forever. And it's not as though she'll actually treat me poorly. Don't worry about it."

"No," she said. "I owe you a favor. Don't forget. I can get you a lot of favors, okay? Just ask."

"Well, if you're offering, I do have one request. There was a young man down in the bar, Tevinter maybe. Shaved sides of his head. With, frankly, an obscenely attractive mouth and eyes that had my clothes off before I sat down. Could I get an introduction?"

She grinned and bounded up. "Be right back, your nobleness."

* * *

><p>When she got back downstairs to the much emptier tavern, everyone left stared at her and whispered. She tried to ignore them. Cullen and Evelyn were huddled together on a bench holding hands, so she figured there was at least something fixed there. Josephine and Cassandra were glaring at her. Varric must have told them enough. She sighed. All in a day's work as Red Jenny.<p>

She made her way to where Krem was sitting with the Chargers. He jumped to his feet and made a deep bow. "My elven goddess! How may I ravish you this evening?" The mercenaries leered at her.

"I hate you."

"Yes, you have eyes for only one man I hear. Such a shame. You'll make a terrible noble."

"Stop talking, or I'll take this back. Come with me." She tugged him towards the stairs, and the Chargers hooted after them.

Krem had grabbed his mug and spilled it across his leathers as they climbed. "Slow down! This cost good money you know." She threw open the door to her room and shoved him inside. No one around her said a word as she followed him in.

The fighter caught himself on one of the many pieces of furniture in her room. "What the hell is going on?"

The Bann laughed. "She does seem to provoke that reaction, doesn't she?" He rose gracefully. "Bann Gareth Alverson, at your service. At whatever service you desire, in fact."

Krem's eyes went wide, but he couldn't stop a smile. "Krem, my lord. Just Krem. No fancy titles for me."

"Thank the Maker. Titles are good at getting a man into bed, I've found, but rarely for keeping him there. I would be very pleased if you dropped mine."

Sera grinned as the Tevinter blushed. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'd say shout if you need me, but well, yeah." She crawled over the noble to the window and stepped onto the roof. They barely noticed her go, already caught up in each other. She heard a noise below her and saw Cullen pressed against the wall behind the tavern. The tip of a blond head was all that showed beneath his own curls, and there were delicate hands wound around his neck.

_Well, that's them all sorted. What to do now?_

She saw Varric heading across the courtyard and smiled. He'd given her bad advice. Time for another prank.


	7. Cullen

Leliana's spies concerned themselves with matters large and small. From schemes to topple Thedas to the preferences of a housemaid in service to a minor noble, there was nothing beneath their attention. Most of the time, this was good. Sera had more than shown them the power of a seemingly lowly-placed servant, and the Inquisition had benefited from its comprehensive knowledge in thousands of ways.

This was not one of them. The Nightingale had found out it was Commander Cullen's birthday, and now the entire Keep was drunk.

"To the Commander!" Cullen heard as he sat at his desk. The revelry had started in the tavern but only briefly, as the courtyards were bursting with well-wishers, subordinates, and even those who wouldn't recognize him in or out of armor. Their shouts were loud enough to reach Corypheus's prison in the Fade, he was sure. It was good for morale. But while he approved, in a general sense, of the release of tension that came from a good celebration, he really wished it wasn't at his expense.

He checked the level of the candle next to him. He'd promised Leliana he'd attend as soon as he was done with his work. She'd given a very graphic explanation of why that plan would only lead to his suffering, so he'd amended it to 7 o'clock. The candle told him he had maybe ten minutes left. He intended to relish it. Not that he was getting any work done.

A blonde head danced across his vision, and he smiled against his will. Evelyn had promised to be back in time to celebrate, and that was the only part of the entire blasted night that he was looking forward to. She'd been away in the Hissing Wastes for three weeks, and Maker did he miss her. Before she'd gone, he'd known he loved her. The nights they'd spent together had him convinced she felt the same way, even though neither had gone so far as to say it yet. No more. She was his darkness and his sunlight all bundled into a quiet woman who made his heart sing. Boldness would be his gift to himself.

He bent his head to his paperwork again when a voice came from above him. "You're late."

Cullen pushed back from his desk in a panic, realizing that he wasn't wearing his sword exactly one second before he figured out who it must be. "Cole. How did you get in here? I locked all of the doors."

"Your roof isn't locked. They want you to come to the party."

"Just a few more minutes. Then I'll come."

"No!" shouted someone from outside his door. "Cole, drag him out here!" It was difficult to tell through the wood and around the general noise, but it sounded like Dorian.

"A few more minutes!" Cullen yelled.

"I'll get Bull up here! I'll do it!"

Cole hopped to the ground. "The Iron Bull unlocks doors with his fists, and then they don't lock again."

"Yes, quite." He sighed and crossed to the door, flinging it open with bad grace.

Dorian grinned at him. He was already holding a half-empty goblet. "There's always an easy way, isn't there Commander? Time to join the festivities." The mage wrinkled his nose. "Well, almost time. That ensemble is not going to pass muster."

He looked down at himself. "What's wrong with it?" The armor was carefully stored, all the better for people not to recognize him, but the shirt and pants he was wearing were at least clean.

"Oh Commander. I know Ferelden has less exacting standards, but surely some of my impeccable fasion sense must have transferred to you. You look like a farmer. And a Chantry boy. A Chantry boy who works on a farm and takes care of the dogs," said Dorian. He turned beside him. "Don't you agree?"

Vivienne detached herself from the shadows, and Cullen groaned audibly. She gave him a cool smile. "While the Imperium's views on magic are entirely backwards, in sartorial matters they could almost pass for Orlesian."

"Bully for them," said Cullen. He crossed his arms. "These are the clothes that I have."

She held up the bundle she was carrying. "For you, Commander. Courtesy of Val Royeaux and ordered by the charming Lady Montilyet. Exactly to your size."

Cullen shrank back. "How does she have my size?"

"Well, I offered to get it for her, in great detail," said Dorian. "I have remarkable powers of observation when motivated, but I was overruled. The armorers have your measurements. Now, are you going to dress yourself, or must we help you along? I vote for the latter, if there's to be a vote." When Cullen balked, the Tevinter man added, "I'm sure the Inquisitor will be most appreciative when she returns."

Cullen's stomach clenched as that sunk in. She was a noble, after all. Perhaps he should make an effort to be less of a soldier and more of a gentleman. And it was just clothes, after all. He snatched them away from Vivienne, gestured Cole out the door, and then slammed it on them. When he finished changing, he felt strangled and silly, but the two mages assured him that he looked every inch the aristocrat.

As he followed them down the stairs, the thought wryly, _At least no one will recognize me now._

* * *

><p>His other fear, that he would be overdressed for the citizens of Skyhold - beyond Vivienne and Dorian, who thought that silk was a basic right for all - was quickly assuaged. Plenty of soldiers and servants and general fetchers were wearing nothing but their usual clothes, but those who had the inclination had dressed up considerably. They mingled together easily, high class and low brow, and that more than anything soothed him. A fancy party for a decidedly roughneck man should be no less welcoming.<p>

Leliana exploded in good-natured laughter when she saw him in Solas's room, but she raised up on her toes to give him a kiss and whispered in his ear, "A certain lady will be well pleased with your bearing this evening, Commander." She was wearing a gown that was severely and dangerously cut, and he envied her confidence in it.

He blushed and tugged at his jacket when she stepped back. "I look like an idiot."

"No, you look like a prince and a very pretty sight for us all. Right, Josie?"

The ambassador had clapped her hands in delight at his approach, then started circling him. "Yes, the tailors did an excellent job. All of your assets are displayed to perfection." He twisted around as she said it and saw her eyes sweep over his backside.

The urge to cover it with his hands was strong. "Please don't discuss my assets," he said instead.

Dorian reappeared with two drinks, one that he pressed into the Commander's hands. "We can do it in front of you or behind your back. Though in this case in front of you would also be behind you. It really is quite a sight."

Cullen gulped the ale quickly. He relished the burn on his throat and the subsequent head rush. Maybe he could get his face so red that no one would see him blushing.

"Come now, don't torture the poor man on his birthday," said Leliana. She hooked her arm through his and squeezed. "Let's go find more of your well-wishers."

As they stepped into the Hall, Varric spotted him immediately. "The birthday boy! To the Commander!" he shouted in a loud voice. Echoes of the cry rang throughout the Hall, then into the courtyards, then up to the battlements. Cullen sighed and smiled. Time to enjoy his party.

* * *

><p>An hour later he looked for an escape. Just a quiet corner. Just for a few minutes. Unfortunately most quiet corners had been occupied by Skyhold residents who were celebrating his birthday in less traditional ways. Or possibly more. One of the ladies in the last corner he checked had Evelyn's hair, if not her face, and he turned aside hastily. She hadn't made an appearance yet, and he was growing more and more nervous.<p>

_Evelyn, I love you. Please give me the gift of being your husband._ No, too much obligation in that. He didn't want her to feel beholden. _Evelyn, I want to marry you._ No. That sounded like he was commanding her, like one of his lieutenants. _Evelyn, I am lost without you. My life is yours. Please marry me. _

He groaned. Too desperate. Everything he'd thought was so poetic when he'd come up with the idea now sounded clinging and hollow. Maybe another night, when he wasn't so drunk. Or was drunker. Or less the bumbling self he was. He touched the letter and the box he'd remembered to swap into his new clothing. No. He was the Commander of the largest army in Thedas. He'd survived Ferelden's Circle. He'd defeated mad Templars and even madder mages. He would not falter now. The Maker would sustain him.

Suddenly he knew where to go that would be quiet. Even in Leliana's most decadent parties, the small room off of the herb garden, with Andraste's statue, would always be protected from debauchery. He frowned a little as he walked. Well, maybe not. Leliana wasn't very picky about debauchery. But it was worth a shot.

A few people stopped him on his way, wished him well, and he greeted and joked with them as best he could. When he reached the door he prayed quickly and was blessed with dark silence inside. He stepped in and checked the corners for more enthusiastic lovers. In the completeness of the darkness, he had to get right up to the walls to be sure, but fortunately it was just him. He turned back and closed the door. He breathed out quietly. _Thank you, Andraste, for this gift._

Rolling some of the tension out of his shoulders, he focused on calming his mind. Meditation had been helpful with his lyrium cravings, and he slipped into its familiar waves easily. He relaxed so completely that he almost jumped out of his skin when, for the second time that night, a voice came from a room he thought was empty. "Is the guest of honor tired of his party already?"

Evelyn's voice. He rubbed his jaw as he turned around. "There was no one left I hadn't talked to."

It was too dark to see her face, but he heard the smile. "Well then, I'm glad I showed up when I did. I wouldn't like to have to compete for your attention."

"True. You always did prefer fights that were fair for the other side," he said.

She laughed and stepped towards him. "You look delicious, by the way," she said.

Cullen reached out to her indistinct figure and pulled her closer. "How do you know?" he asked. "It's too dark to see more than an outline."

"You always do. But I also followed you here. Snuck in behind you. I'm a very good rogue, you know." She breathed the last and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "It was a perfect view to follow." Her hand reached behind him and squeezed gently.

He lost control at the touch and spun her sideways to pin her against the wall. His mouth devoured hers while she explored him, and he felt her laugh with joy at his abandon. His lips moved to her cheek, her ear, her neck, and he let his own hands wander down her. There was a lot of bare skin, only the merest hint of fabric, and he was wild to know what she looked like. But not now, not while she was panting underneath him, not while her hands were brushing over his growing hardness, not while he had her hair rolling between his fingers.

When she spun them around to take the lead, he groaned as his back hit the wall. He opened his eyes to watch the glitter in her own. She was still so dark and indistinct, and it wasn't enough. He tore his eyes away from her to look for a light source, and his eyes fell on the dark shape of Andraste's statue. He stiffened and stopped responding at the reminder of where they were.

Evelyn pulled away. "What's wrong?" she asked. No anger, no fear, just quiet, business-like concern. He loved that about her.

"I just… I forgot who was watching," he said. He was grateful that she couldn't see his blush. "I came in here because I thought no one would dare to, well, in a church room."

She didn't laugh, though he was sure she was grinning at him. "You can take the boy out of the Chantry…"

"Something like that."

"Even if I'm her Herald, and I say it's okay?"

"That might make it worse," he said. "It's probably unforgiveable to philander with a holy icon anywhere, much less in a holy place."

"Philander? You make it sound so sordid. I like it." But she stepped away, tempering the joke with understanding. A light sigh drifted towards him. "At least I know you missed me."

"Never doubt that. It was agony while you were gone."

"For me, too," she said. "But I'm back now. Care to dance, Commander? Outside, of course."

He followed her as she opened the door and stepped through, then stopped short as soon as he saw her dress. If it could be called a dress. Or clothing. He was sure that people weren't meant to wear things quite so sheer or so form-fitting. And while the light blue gown fell to a very elegant length, it certainly didn't reach the heights he'd been led to believe a young noblewoman would find appropriate. The scars she bore on her skin from close combat were silvery under the moonlight, and somehow those marks made her look even more undressed than she already did.

His mouth watered, but he made sure not to let his body touch hers as he swung her around behind him. He looked down at her face determinedly. "I can't let you go out there like that," he said.

She looked down at herself. "Like what?"

"In that thing!" He gestured up and down without moving his eyes.

"Josephine assured me it was very fashionable," she said. She stared at him uncertainly. "Do you not like it?"

Oh sweet Maker. "Of course I do. You look… well, irresistible is a word that seems appropriate. But everyone else will think so, too. I know Varric's books talk a lot about undressing someone with their eyes, but a thought would be enough for you in this dress."

She relaxed. "Oh, good. That's what I was hoping for." He growled, and she patted his cheek. "From you, Cullen. I hoped it would be a nice gift."

"It is. But I don't want the entire Hold to see it."

"Even if they know I only did it for you?" she asked sweetly. Her hand was still on her cheek, but now it curved possessively. Her voice lowered. "I'm yours. You're mine. They all know it. Dance with me."

Her words went straight to his groin without consulting his brain, and he pushed her roughly away, towards the door. When she only looked at him expectantly, he raked his eyes over her hungrily, without embarrassment. Only after he was done memorizing every detail of her appearance did he hold out his arm in escort position. She took it quickly and followed when he led her back to the hall, where the music was. He took her in his arms, reveling in the feel of her under his hands, and they danced.

* * *

><p>The rest of the party passed both slowly and quickly. He no longer had to fight to enjoy himself, as Evelyn went with him everywhere and was never far away from his touch. She held his hand while they talked to people he barely knew, she curved under his arm when the fireworks, courtesy of Bull's demolition expert, crested over the Hold, and she pressed her mouth to his eagerly whenever someone asked if he'd gotten his birthday kiss yet.<p>

It was the latter that made the night drag so slowly. Cullen had a strong will, but every man had his limits. She blew past every single one of his with barely any effort. While they were talking to Dorian and Vivienne again, he finally snapped. "I think it's time to retire."

Dorian smiled. "So early? The party has only begun, Commander."

"The Inquisitor had a long journey today. She needs her rest."

"Oh, granted. That doesn't mean you have to go, surely?" asked Dorian archly. When Cullen only glared, the other man raised his hands in surrender. "I suppose you are rather elderly by now. Not as virile as you used to be."

Evelyn smiled. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

Cullen finished his drink quickly. "Please let's leave. Or talk about anything else."

"I am a bit tired," she said. "I think it's time to go."

Vivienne stepped towards her. "Are you okay, my dear? You're not overtaxing yourself?"

"I'm fine. Just a lot of sun and sand and nothingness. Don't worry," said Evelyn. She gave them all a reassuring look, then tugged Cullen towards her quarters. "Good night everyone."

They waved at them, but Cullen didn't notice. He finally allowed himself to watch her again as she swayed towards the door, and he approved of the movement of her hips with every fiber of his being. She gave him a devilish look over her shoulder, and he knew she was doing it on purpose. The stairs had never seemed so numerous as she climbed them in front of him.

And yet when they reached her room, she didn't rush to him. She didn't even sink to the bed. She stood in the middle of the room, quietly, fidgeting in her beautiful dress. He was almost past reason, but he loved her, and there was something wrong. She needed him to rein himself in.

Cullen forced himself to stay at the top of the stairs, with his hand on the banister. "What is it?"

The room was quiet. She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought that I could wait until the morning, but it doesn't seem right."

"Are you leaving again?" He wracked his brain, trying to think of a mission or request that would take her away.

"No. Not that," she said. "It's just that I might not be wearing this dress again for a while."

He relaxed. "Well, I hope not. I may be aging at a rapid rate, but I still only have birthdays once a year."

"You're not old," she said irritably. "You're perfect. And I would wear this for you anytime, if you like it. Only I can't." She sighed. "I don't know if this is a good birthday gift or not, but I'm pregnant, Cullen."

The few noises left in the room faded out as his mind stuttered. She placed her hand over her stomach, her stomach that was covered by a blue sheer gown that couldn't have seemed less important. "I'm sorry?" he said. He shifted uncertainly as she watched him.

"Solas confirmed it on the way back from the Wastes. I hadn't been feeling well. He noticed. He thought it was an injury. It wasn't." Tears gathered in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I thought I was careful. Something must have gone wrong. I don't expect you to…"

As she trailed off, a growing horror filled him. "You think I won't stay with you?"

"You've talked enough about the trials of your sister with her children and how many soldiers falter when they have their own that I know you're not looking for fatherhood. I wouldn't force it on you. I can manage." She looked down at her dress. "I had already planned this, before I knew. I thought I could give us a last night. But I couldn't. I'm really sorry."

He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her to him. He wanted to pour all of his strength into it, but he was so aware now of the life inside of her that he didn't dare. Their life, together. "I want this more than you could ever know, Evelyn Trevelyan. Marry me."

She'd started to relax at his touch, then stiffened again at his last words. "No. You don't have to do that. I'm not afraid of what people will say," she said into his chest.

"Neither am I. I am afraid of seeing another year without being your husband. We can wait for the wedding as long as you want. If you want to have the baby first, I will wait for you. But please say yes." He pulled away and looked down at her. "Please."

When she still looked unsure, he took his hand away from her shoulder and pulled out the two things he'd carried with him all night. He held out the box to her. "I was going to give you this after, well, after the bed. But now seems better."

She opened it suspiciously, then looked up in surprise. "It's a necklace." She pulled it out and held it in front of her. The metal was dull and circular, but in its center was a delicate pattern of green jewels.

"Yes. Jeweled rings are too dangerous for soldiers, even for rogues like you," he said affectionately. "This seemed better. It's the coin you gave back to me, for luck. And the jewels are green, for your eyes, and in the shape of the Rutherford family crest, such as it is. Whether or not you'll be my wife, I'd like you to wear it. Carry me with you."

His eyes filled with tears as she stared at it, then slipped the chain over her head. It looked ridiculous with the gown she was wearing, which was designed to be bare and empty, but the sight of it only made him want her more. He ran his fingers down the length of the chain, and smiled when he felt her shiver under his touch.

"What's the letter?" she asked. Her lips parted when he reached the pendant and circled it with his finger.

Cullen stilled his hand, and she made a noise of protest. "I wrote to your father, to ask him for his blessing. Not his permission. I know how you feel about that. But you're a noble. I wanted to do things correctly."

She gaped at him. "You went to my father? How long have you been thinking about this?"

"Long enough. So will you?"

"Under one condition," she said. He waited for her to continue, his heart in his throat. She grinned. "That you wear exactly what you have on for the wedding. I don't know what they did, but your ass has never looked so tempting."

He dropped the letter and grabbed her around the waist while he forced her back to the bed. She fell, laughing, and he twisted away to avoid landing on her. She wasted no time in rolling on top of him, and he held her hips while she smiled at him. "I love you," he said, and didn't look away when she bit her lip.

"And this is okay?" She touched her stomach again.

"It's better than okay. It does an old man's heart good to know he's still capable of it."

She smacked him across the shoulders and grumbled as she kissed him, but he knew by the end of the night exactly how much she loved him. It was more than he'd ever hoped.

* * *

><p>The next morning he snuck down to the kitchens to get her food and to ask her guards to keep them undisturbed. To his shock, Dorian was already there waiting with a tray. "Good morning, Commander! Did she say yes?"<p>

He paled. "What do you mean?"

"Come now. Don't you know Leliana reads all of our mail? Sloppy of you to write it down so plainly."

"Well, if you must know, yes she did." He tried to sound angry, but he was too happy to carry it off. And besides, Dorian still didn't know everything.

"Excellent. It's so important for children to have stable parents, don't you think?" The mage deposited the tray in Cullen's hands and strolled off. "I'm already planning to be an extremely troublesome uncle."

Before he made it into the hall, Dorian turned around. "You can thank us all later for our clothing help, by the way. Without it, who knows what might have happened?" He left with a wink.

Cullen shook his head. He added a few more things to the tray, things he knew Evelyn would like, and headed back to the Hall. She'd be just waking up soon, if he was any judge. He thought of her stretched out in her bed, blinking sleep out of her lovely eyes. His pace quickened. Suddenly he was very hungry.


	8. Vivienne

The finest dress shop in Val Royeaux was, for as long as they desired, the province of the Inquisition. Evelyn had protested the use of force in taking the territory, but Vivienne just shook her head. "My dear, one simply must be firm when shopping in Orlais. It's the only way they'll understand you have status." If the restored First Enchantress had anything to say about it, not a merchant in the city would ever doubt the Inquisitor's status again.

And so, with only a few delicate words, and one very subtle reminder of the magical power she could choose to unleash at any point, though of course she never would, how could the man think she would ever… they had their shop. The light frost on her fingers subsided very quickly after he barred the door from any other customers.

The proprietor grew much more enthusiastic once the level of custom the party would provide became clear. Corypheus was defeated, the known rifts entirely sealed, and the time for messy battles and messier armor passing like a dream. It was time for diplomacy, the velvet glove, and Vivienne had no intention of letting their leader enter the fray unprepared.

And her companions could be no less suitably attired, no matter how they protested.

Fizzy wine in thin flutes rested on the tables of the showing room, and Vivienne sipped hers appreciatively. Not the best stock they had, she knew, but she allowed the man this one slight. Anything better would only be wasted on this group. But she would make sure he knew that she knew, for the next time she returned.

Sera, sitting on the closest divan, proved her point admirably. The elf tilted her head back and swallowed the contents in one gulp, then made a face. "Euuuuh. I'm supposed to get drunk off of this? I'll be puking bubbles before I get half close, yeah?"

Vivienne put a hand to her forehead. "It's not designed for intoxication, darling. It's meant to be appreciated. Slowly," she added pointedly as Sera tilted another glass back.

The girl wiped her lips on the back of her hand. "Well, what I would appreciate," she said in mockingly cultured tones, "if I have to be here, is some ale. Do you think they have any?"

Cassandra appeared in front of them, trailed by a woman with an armful of gowns. "Though I do not desire alcohol, I must once again protest at this frivolous use of my time. We are in a delicate stage of training. If I must have these… these garments, surely they can simply be purchased and sent to Skyhold?"

The shop assistant trilled in horror, "Oh no, Princess. Each gown must be examined and tested to make sure it flatters you in all the right ways. Especially with your striking cheekbones. We simply must draw attention to them with bold lines."

The Seeker mumbled something about striking that had the woman quietly excusing herself. Vivienne sat up languorously. "Really, Cassandra, the Pentaghast line must have prepared you for this in some small way. They would not let such vital royal knowledge be ignored for a sword," she said.

"Yes, there were lessons in royal matters, including proper dress and manners," said Cassandra. "I have knowledge of many things. I also have the knowledge to burn the lyrium within you to painful fire, but you will notice I am not currently employing this skill."

A few months ago, Vivienne might have taken that as an invitation for an intimate lesson in magical pain. But she'd learned a lot about the woman since then, including how to handle her. Now she simply smiled. "And isn't that a blessing to us all. I liked the violet gown the woman held. Try that one, my dear." She turned to Sera and added, "You, of course, already have a frothy blue creation waiting for you."

Both women looked at her with mutinous eyes, but Vivienne merely waited. It didn't take long.

"Are you fighting out there? No fighting. This is Girl's Day Out!" called Evelyn from the changing area. A giggle came, followed by a squeal. "Leliana, you're going to be The Divine! That's indecent!"

Sera sighed and stood up. "Her Inquistorialness wouldn't know indecent if it stripped naked in the courtyard. Probably something bloody ridiculous," she said, but there was a wicked smile on her lips as she headed for the partitions.

The tall figure of the Seeker didn't move. "You should have let Dorian take my place, as he wished."

"Nonsense," said Vivienne. "Not only would a Tevinter mage have caused mass panic in the shop, but if we allowed that, then Varric would have insisted on being allowed Sera's place. Quite unthinkable. And Evelyn was insistent on the outing being for only women, you remember. A bonding activity suitable for us all. The men are having their own, I'm sure charming, outing."

"She was only insistent when you told her to be!"

She shrugged. "And?"

"Cassandra, get in here!" said Josephine. "There's a dragon! We need your help!" An explosion of laughter, led by Sera, filled the store.

"It's really big!" said Sera. "And mean. It can only be tamed by you! Hurry!"

Cassandra muttered, "In the name of everything holy, what now?" as she walked towards the partition.

Just as she reached it wielding an exasperated look, Evelyn peeked her head out. "Oh, nevermind. It was just Varric's throbbing desire." She ducked her head back before Cassandra could react. "To be fair, it is very large!" she said around peals of laughter.

"His desire is. Not what is actually throbbing," said Leliana. "Though who knows? Perhaps both are!"

The Seeker looked back at Vivienne with pleading eyes. The mage crossed her legs. "The violet gown, Lady Seeker. It will do wonders for your coloring."

As though she'd been summoned by spell, the shop woman materialized with the requested garment, and Cassandra disappeared. Growling and laughter alternated at random, and Vivienne sipped her flute with a small smile. It faded slowly as she remembered her last visit to the shop. Bastien had escorted her in the last days before his illness truly took hold, only weeks before the hole in the sky appeared and Vivienne offered her aid to the Inquisitor.

He'd sat patiently, pale but strong, as she tried on garment after garment. None was right, and the pile around her grew deeper and more desperate the more she'd searched. Eventually she'd snapped at the woman to leave her be, then stood trembling behind the thin wood in only her lingerie. She'd pretended to herself that it was the cold, though the cold that lived constantly inside her made the cool shop feel like a desert at noon. She'd breathed deeply with her eyes closed to gather herself.

She'd almost made it back to her center when familiar hands had circled her waist. "Nothing to suit?" Bastien had asked softly.

"No. I'm afraid their standards have fallen rather below my own in these last months."

He'd smiled against her neck. "Your standards are exacting, my jewel. Let's come back later, in a few weeks. Perhaps your expectations will be met, then." She'd turned in the circle of his arms to answer with a kiss. The weakness of his voice didn't dim the humor as he added, "You're already dressed exactly how I like you best, anyway."

They'd never returned, of course, and he'd slipped away while she was saving the world. She hadn't seen him enough in those last months. She'd barely seen him at all. And she certainly hadn't mourned him outside of that musty room of death.

She knew several in the Empire wondered why she stayed with the Inquisitor, who hadn't made her Divine and had reached an accord with the mages that was more liberal than she'd advised. They would never understand. Evelyn had put her life in danger at Vivienne's unexplained request, wanted to save a man who was dying, and then had understood everything with hardly a word. That was a woman to follow to the end.

"Madame de Fer?" the proprietor said, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Yes?"

"My apologies for the intrusion, but we found this in the back room as we were looking for gowns with more 'strappy bits', as your charming elven friend called them." He held out a box. "It was commissioned for you some time ago, but due to the war and the rarity of the materials, it was only completed last week. I'd thought we sent it to your home, but it was still here. Please accept it, with our gratitude."

Vivienne's eyebrow raised in question, but she opened the card affixed to the package and read.

_My dearest lady, _

_While there is no gown in Thedas which can cure an old man of his age, I adore you for trying. I hope this gift may come close and will suit you in life as well as it does in my dreams._

_Yours, Bastien_

She prided herself on the lack of pain on her face when she lifted the lid of box. Inside was a creamy white creation with iridescent dragon scales rippling in bands around the fabric. When she held it up they winked at her, and she knew without even trying it on it would be daringly, barely decently cut in the front. He'd always loved that look on her the most.

Dreamily, she stood and let the box fall. Without moving to the changing area she disrobed and slipped into the gown. The employees were too well-trained to comment, but she hardly noticed them. In her mind it was Bastien watching, approving and disapproving in turns as she covered and uncovered and covered skin again. When she was done, she didn't need a mirror to tell her the fit was perfect. _This might have healed him,_ she thought. _It could have been enough._

While she was lost in memories, Evelyn ran around the corner in a dress of her own. The rest followed a little more slowly, but all in filmy gowns. "Vivienne," said Evelyn, "I need your help to know if this looks good." The rogue stopped short and her mouth opened wide.

All the women seemed stunned as they studied her, but she smiled with no embarrassment. "You all look marvelous. Especially you, my dear," she said to Cassandra. She turned to the shopkeepers. "Please wrap all of these while the ladies select a second gown." Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn smiled and dashed back around the corner, while Sera and Cassandra groaned.

Thirty minutes later, all gowns had been selected and the merchant had a wide smile on his face at the stack of boxes. "Thank you for your patronage, ladies. You're welcome back at any time. And we will attempt to stock ale for you whenever you wish, my lady."

"Right. I'm telling you, the people will love it." Sera swallowed a final glass of wine and burped hugely, but the man's face didn't move an inch. Gold bought a lot of tolerance.

Josephine looked over at Vivienne as she negotiated the payment. "Your gowns are also covered by the Inquisition, enchantress."

"Thank you, ambassador, but this item was already paid for," she said. She looked down at the gift that still hugged her body. "I'll wear it out of the store, I believe. Sir, please ensure my clothing is wrapped and delivered to the hotel along with the rest." She swept out without pausing for acknowledgement and imagined Bastien would be standing there, waiting.

* * *

><p>They visited a shoe store next, in deference to Leliana's wishes, and Evelyn and Sera spent much of their time competing to see who could wobble on higher heels. Vivienne nudged Cassandra into purchasing a few pairs that were less utilitarian than her usual leather boots. The woman protested that she'd never wear them but capitulated after Josephine mentioned that she wore the same size. "At least I can give them to her if need be," muttered Cassandra as she added the boxes to the pile.<p>

Josephine chose the spa, where servants fairly scurried to please the Inquisition without Vivienne having to raise a finger. She smiled. Word must have spread about them. All to the better.

They paid the earth, of course, but that was all well and good so long as one received it. The women were massaged, oiled, relaxed and pampered to within an inch of their lives. The irrepressible laughter somewhat abated under the soothing care, though Sera's entrepreneurial spirit showed itself in speculation about the mud treatments and how they related to the ground outside of Skyhold's tavern. "If this muck was worth 10 gold, I bet we could get even more for Skyhold stuff. It being touched by the Inquisitor's boots and all. Sure to be healing powers in that!"

The rest of the women smiled indulgently, but Leliana actually seemed to be considering it as they submitted to their massages. "You know, that could work to raise funds. Not mud, of course, but items of the Inquisitor's. Like Skyhold souvenirs. And of course, the most ardent followers would bear a lot of watching. Sort of an early warning system for trouble."

"You can't auction my things off like an estate sale! I'm not even dead!"

"Not your personal items, of course, but pens… or cups… things like that," said Leliana.

Cassandra groaned into the table. "Ridiculous. Only the truly insane would purchase these things."

"I agree," said Evelyn. "And I'm definitely not leaving any of my cups behind me from now on."

Sera turned her head to the side and whispered to Vivienne, "Does that mean no to the mud?"

The mage shook her head. "I'm sure you may take all the mud you wish and be welcome to it."

"Perfect. Just need someone to sell it then. Probably normal merchants won't do it, too messy or whatever."

"Varric likely has some contacts in the Merchant's Guild," offered Josephine. "Probably of unusual taste."

"Why do you encourage her?" asked Cassandra.

"Of course, he may be too engaged in writing to have the time, I suppose," the Antivan said evilly. "I hear he works at all hours of the day and night to deliver the latest chapters of _Swords and Shields_ to his waiting maiden."

The women, aside from Vivienne, murmured agreement as Cassandra sputtered. "I wish you would stop. The sales of the book are improving, which is why he writes more. There is no special favor to me in it."

Leliana laughed. "Did he tell you that? Either he or his publisher lies most prettily, Cassandra." The bard pushed up on her elbows as the masseuses left. "No, I'm afraid the favors are very special indeed. He enjoys being bothered by you about it. Perhaps you should be more bothersome."

"At the very least let him read the next one to you instead of hiding away," said Evelyn. "His voice alone would be worth it." She blushed when everyone looked at her. "What? Oh Maker, please don't tell Cullen I said that."

"Fear not, Your Grace. Girl's Days Out secrets are sacred," said Josephine with a wink.

Cassandra ignored them and turned to Vivienne. "Please. Save me from these juveniles. You're sane. Worldly. You understand how ludicrous this is."

"If you ask me to refrain from making sport of your discomfort, my dear, that need never be said. I take no pleasure in the agony of early love to the unaware," said Vivienne.

"Thank you," said Cassandra and looked triumphantly at the rest of the group. After a second, she frowned. "Wait. What do you mean?"

"I mean that you were correct in your assessment. I am both sane and worldly, though it takes only a hint of either to see the man's regard for you," said Vivienne. She wrapped a robe around her and headed for the door. "I have seen much of lust and love, and he holds both when you meet. What you choose to do about it is, of course, entirely up to you."

* * *

><p>Cassandra's choice of activity was the theater, a pleasant but entirely incongruous choice to Vivienne until she realized what was playing at the moment. It was a populist play, an adventurous love story with frenzied battles and even more frenzied passion. It was practically the dreadful Tethras serial brought to life, and the Seeker was nearly insensible with anticipation.<p>

"It is only the third play written by this author, and it's said to be the most romantic one yet," she said, practically clasping her hand to her bosom. This morning, Vivienne and Evelyn had talked her out of her armor and into a plain but fashionably cut tunic, and now it billowed behind her as she moved. She continued, not noticing the bemused looks of her companions. "I could not believe it when it was playing here at this time. And that we got seats."

Vivienne stepped back in surprise as the Seeker rounded on her suddenly. The taller woman enveloped her in a hug. She returned it gingerly, patting Cassandra on the back. "Thank you," said Cassandra.

"It was no trouble, honestly. The dear Duke's box is still engaged, and Duchess was happy to accommodate a request of the Inquisition," she said. More than happy. This was not a play that would appeal to Her Grace in the least. "I'm pleased it can be used for such a noble purpose."

The Seeker released her and turned back around, chattering to Josephine happily. Sera made good-natured fun behind her, much to Leliana's amusement. Evelyn, instead of laughing, slipped back to walk alongside Vivienne. "Are you okay?" the Inquisitor asked in a low voice.

Evelyn was insightful, for all she was young. Since the dress shop, the memories of the Duke had faded a little. Never gone, not while the gown walked with her, but the spa had been clean of him, and the pain had faded to the usual dull ache. This would be different. The box had been theirs for many wonderful nights. Vivienne didn't try to hide her sorrow from the Inquisitor. At least not more than she hid it from herself. "It will be difficult, of course," she said. "The Duke and I enjoyed many fine evening at the Royal Theater. Still, it must be done at some point, and I am glad to have your support."

"Okay," said Evelyn. She bit her lip. "I didn't know the Duke, but from what you described he would be proud of you for facing this. He would want you to remember without pain."

"Oh yes, dear, he would want that very much. But neither he, nor you, get to choose my pain," she said. "That decision is mine alone. Nevertheless, your words are kindly meant. I thank you for them." Vivienne ran a hand over the scale line on her dress. She felt a tear gathering in her eye and blinked once, freezing it just under her eye before it could fall and reveal her.

She changed the subject. "I must ask you, why did you not choose a destination for the day? I assume after this Sera will have us at a tavern with our mugs in the air, but there was never a choice for you."

Evelyn smiled. "Because I didn't care. I just wanted a day like this. I never had sisters, or many girlfriends, and nobles in the Marches weren't encouraged to flit about in any case. At least not in my father's household. I really wanted to know what it was like to have a day out like this, just girls, just silliness. And you know what? It's the best thing in the world. I haven't laughed so much in years!"

"I'm glad for you. But next time we really must allow you to choose. You're the Inquisitor. Do not bow too easily to other's whims."

They reached the theater early, exceedingly so, too early to even enter as the prior performance was still in progress. They waited outside, and when the doors finally opened to allow the matinee audience to leave, Cassandra was bouncing on her feet. Vivienne did strive not to be amused at her companions' expenses, but even she was having trouble keeping a straight face. "Please, Cassandra, don't strain yourself," she said.

"I know, I'm simply -"

Vivienne would never hear what she simply was, because a voice called out, "Hey, Seeker!" Varric waved at them from the door, where he was swiftly joined by Cullen, Iron Bull, Dorian, Blackwall and Cole.

"Oh no, boys," said Evelyn and Sera together, then laughed. Despite her professed dismay, the Inquisitor waved Cullen over and kissed him soundly over the vomiting noises from Sera.

The rest of them were much more interested in Varric, who greeted each of them cheerfully but had eyes that strayed back to Cassandra more often than not. "So, didn't expect to find you here," he said. "Come to see the latest bloody adventure tale?"

"It's a romance story, as you well know. I can't believe you saw it first. How was it? Did you enjoy it?" asked Cassandra. She slashed a hand in front of her. "No, wait. I don't wish to know. I wish to go in without knowing anything.

Varric started to speak before she cut him off again. "But was it wonderful? Did they fall in love? No. Wait. They must. Otherwise who would go to see it?"

"Well, it's very much like her other plays," said Varric. "Although the ending in this one -"

"Don't tell me about the ending!" yelped Cassandra. Vivienne rolled her eyes and walked away. She was truly hopeful that the woman would find the romance Varric was so clearly ready to give her, but the noise of their courtship was too much to bear.

Dorian and Bull stood away from the din, and she joined them. She waved off their compliments of her new clothing. "So how was it, truly?" she asked.

"Dreck," said the Tevinter mage. "Absolute dreck. If it weren't for the cocktails and the handsome men serving them, it would have been an utter waste." Bull nodded, and Vivienne murmured sympathetically. Dorian threw his hands up. "At least your torturer will actually enjoy it. Varric only went to impress her. I left more impressed with his capacity for self-abuse, personally."

"I realize the Imperium is heavily invested in allowing only non-mages to suffer, but in Orlais we do not place ourselves so highly above those we aid."

"Yes, extremely insightful as usual," said Dorian. "If the Magisterium is ever looking for a goodwill ambassador to spread their joy here in the south, I'll be sure to mention your name."

"I think all of you magic users are nuts," Bull said. "Hey, my plan is that we end this night at a relatively clean bar down the road. I assume you'll be drinking as well?" When Vivienne nodded with a pained look, he smiled. "Great. Come to the same place. The Grand Game, it's called. I've had enough male bonding to last me to the next Blight."

The ushers began taking tickets for new entrants, and Dorian gave her a nasty grin. "Enjoy your cultural experience, enchantress."

Bull shook his head sadly. "Too much sexual tension, not enough sex."

"Your review of the play?" asked Vivienne, arching an eyebrow.

Bull tipped his head to Varric and Cassandra, who were still arguing animatedly. "Yeah, that too."

* * *

><p>At the bar later, Vivienne had to admit that she was glad the romance in the story had been horrible. Watching a truly heart-tugging tale of love from her usual seat, with the place of Bastien occupied by an Antivan ambassador, may have proved slightly too much even for her control. As it was, she'd rather enjoyed dissecting every flaw in it. Like performing an autopsy, without any blood.<p>

The bar was relatively clean, she had to give Bull that. And it served a nice glass of wine, one she would nurse as long as was possible before leaving for the night. For now, she needed to stay. Evelyn would be disappointed if she didn't, though she was currently throwing darts with Blackwall and Sera and laughing uproariously. Leliana and Josephine had abandoned all decorum and were huddled together in a dark booth. Bull watched them with a grin and no hint of shame while Dorian, Cole and Cullen discussed something tedious over their drinks. Cassandra and Varric were busy arguing the merits of the play at much more length than it deserved.

Vivienne itched with the need to manage something. Anything. She wasn't designed to simply idle and enjoy life. Enjoyment was fine, with purpose. This was purposeless. When Cullen left his seat for a refill, she joined him at the bar. "Commander," she said.

"Lady Vivienne. I hope you enjoyed your day in Val Royeaux," he said. "You certainly found a beautiful gown."

"Thank you, darling. You may trust that the Inquisitor's dresses are no less flattering on her." She watched coolly, but with satisfaction, as the color rose on his cheeks.

"Ah. Yes. Well, she seemed to have had a nice time, from what I gathered. We didn't speak long. She seems to be avoiding me tonight. Something about preserving the sanctity of sisterhood," he said. They both looked over at her doubled over while Sera pounded her back. Cullen sighed a little wistfully.

"You'll be seeing each other later tonight though, surely? A room is only so large, even at the finest hotel in the city."

"What? Oh. No, different rooms. I didn't think it would be quite proper to, well, assume."

Vivienne affected a look of concern. "Oh, my dear, I do apologize then. I told the desk earlier today when they needed space that we had an extra room to allow them. I had them move your things to Her Worship's room." She placed a hand over her mouth. "I hope this wasn't precipitous."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I imagine we'll muddle through," he said dryly, and she offered him a small smile. He returned it, and she made a note to make sure to do exactly as she'd said she already had as soon as she got back to the hotel.

Cullen picked up his drink and prepared to return to Dorian, but she put a hand on his arm. "Commander. One more thing. I think it might aid you, on one of those muddling nights, to read her a story."

"A story? What kind of story?"

"One of romance and passion," she said. "She will enjoy it, I assure you."

"I'm not much of a reader," he said. "I'm not sure I could do anything justice."

"It won't matter how well you read, Ser. It will only matter how close your lips are to her ear." He blushed scarlet and left quickly, but when he paused before sitting and caught Evelyn's eye, the heat that passed between them was blinding.

It hit her like a fireball in the gut. Bastien had never been so tall nor awkward, and she had never been so innocent as the young Inquisitor, but the way their eyes met may well have been a vision of the past. He'd seen her just that way, every time they met. All the memories she'd been holding back washed over her at once, and it was time to leave. She turned around hurriedly and finished her drink. She'd completed a task. It was enough.

Before she could go, Cassandra trapped her unexpectedly. "That dwarf is unbelievable. He missed the entire point of the scene with the prince and the serving girl. That was the most important one! It's what made it love. It's hard to believe he writes anything worth reading," she muttered. She shook her head angrily as she reached for the ales the bartender handed her. "And I still can't believe you think he has any amorous intentions at all."

Vivienne was out of control, she knew it, and yet there was nowhere to go. The Seeker wasn't trying to contain her, but she was all the same, and the ice was rising with no outlet. Smoothly, so smoothly no one would see the desperation inside of her, she reached out to the glasses and touched them with her power. It froze the contents solid instantly.

"Vivienne!" said Cassandra. She stared at the mage in utter disbelief.

"Seeker," she said in a frozen voice. "You speak of romance as if you know it, of love as if you've touched it, and yet you are a blind simpleton. See what is in front of you, or choose not to see it, it matters little to its existence. As one who would give this all, every piece of Thedas, for even one more moment to hold love, your denial of it is an affront. To me, and to us all. I said I would not make sport of your discomfort, and I will not. There's nothing entertaining about your behavior. It sickens me to watch."

Cassandra stepped back slowly to let her pass, her face stricken. "I'm sorry," she said, and Vivienne saw that she truly was. It mattered little, and did not change the truth of her words, but it gave her pause. There could not be an apology, because she felt no regret, but there could be an amends.

She banked the power she'd drawn. Dorian, she realized, had half-risen in his chair at her first usage of it, but fortunately no one else had noticed. He sat down again casually, acknowledging her regained control. She looked in the Seekers eyes and spoke more quietly. "Do not apologize to me, Cassandra. Do something."

Vivienne left.

* * *

><p>Somehow, when she made it back to the hotel, Bull was waiting for her. She gave him her best glare and made to sweep past him. He blocked her easily, and dared her with his eyes to use magic. "So," he said, "after you switch around the Commander's room, why don't you tell me more about your Duke?"<p>

She made to refuse him, was already starting to shake her head, when he brushed a gentle finger over the shoulder of her dress. His face was sympathetic. "It seems like he loved you a lot."

And that's what broke her, in the end. She could love the Duke forever, whether or not he lived. He existed inside of her, always. But he'd loved her, and that was a feeling from without, one she couldn't carry. He was the only man, the only truly, wildly, beautiful man, who ever had. The dress was just a dress, in the end. The feeling of him would never wrap around her again, until she joined him across the Veil.

"Yes," she said. "He did." Bull dropped his hand. When the tears fell from her eyes, this time, she let them.


End file.
